


Built To Fall Apart (and Back Together)

by oneshinyapple



Series: Like Gravity [4]
Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe(s), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barebacking, Casual Sex, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Memory Alteration, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, tw: suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 95,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneshinyapple/pseuds/oneshinyapple
Summary: The day after Johnny kissed him on top of the Statue of Liberty, Spider-Man disappeared. One year later, multimillionaire-in-the-making Peter Parker launches a company with his best friend, Harry Osborn.  The last thing he needs is a complication like Johnny. But what was meant to be a one-night stand quickly spirals into something else, and everything is further turned upside-down when mysterious portals to another universe appear and they learn that there are two constants in the life of Johnny Storm: Peter Parker, and being left behind.Johnny didn’t remember how it happened, or where he’d found the nerve. He remembered Spider-Man complaining about something, waving one hand, animated, over burgers and fries atop the Statue of Liberty. He remembered how soft Spider-Man’s lips had been, the indignant squawk that had come with him dropping his burger right off the statue, how his mouth had tasted of cheese and beef and onions, and Johnny hadn’t cared.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All references/easter eggs related to or derived from canon will be listed at the end of the work.
> 
> BIG thanks to Ashley for beta reading and putting up with my wall-of-text DMs.

Johnny didn’t remember how it happened, or where he’d found the nerve.  He remembered Spider-Man complaining about something, waving one hand animatedly, over burgers and fries atop the Statue of Liberty.  Johnny had stopped listening at some point, watching as the other got worked up, mouth drawn downward in a funny little pout, his chin glistening with grease.

He remembered how soft Spider-Man’s lips had been, the indignant squawk that had come with him dropping his burger right off the statue, how his mouth had tasted of cheese and beef and onions, and Johnny hadn’t cared.

“Why?” Spider-Man asked when Johnny pulled away.  No anger or offense, even the surprise had apparently been spent in the moment his burger went over the side.  There was just calm curiosity.

“I wanted to shut you up.”

“Couldn’t have just said, ‘Shut up, Spidey?’”

Johnny smiled shakily and put a hand on the back of Spidey’s neck.  The other didn’t flinch or pull away and maybe, he thought, that was a good sign.  “Where’s the fun in that?”

Spider-Man’s mouth turned further downward.  “Is that what this is about? Fun?”

No.  There was nothing fun in the way he felt about Spider-Man, with his heart going as hard as a triphammer every time the masked vigilante came within fifty feet of him, with the looming possibility that he’d lose his friend if Spider-Man didn’t feel the same.  Johnny wanted to confess those things, but the words refused to come.

“Johnny.”

He shivered at the sound of his name, even though the Human Torch had long lost the ability to feel cold.  “Please. Please kiss me? It—It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, but if—if you do—”

Spider-Man, whose mouth had been slowly curving into a smile through Johnny’s stammering, finally laughed, and Johnny wanted to disappear—wanted to melt into the stone and stay there forever.

“You know, I thought I was having a good day,” he said conversationally, before Johnny could yell out an apology and fly away in shame.  He reached out hesitantly and placed a hand over Johnny’s, resting on the crown. His hand was warm, its weight over his effortlessly keeping him still.

Johnny held his breath.

“A new pizza stand opened in the park near my apartment, and the slices are enormous. Then my best friend just came to me with an idea that...well, might mean I can finally have a job that means something. And now—” Spider-Man’s hand moved from Johnny’s to trace the line of his jaw, unexpectedly gentle.  “I should quit, while I’m ahead.”

Johnny’s heart leaped and every inch of his skin Spider-Man had touched sang.  “I’m flattered that me kissing you is about the same level as cheap pizza.”

Spider-Man snorted, fingers splayed across Johnny’s cheek, inching towards his hair.  “It’s a distant third on the list.”

“Oh, _is_ it?  And what’s that about a job that might actually mean something?  You’re already Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man isn’t a job, Johnny,” he said, almost stern.  “It’s just what I do.”

Johnny looked at him archly, emboldened by the fact that he hadn’t swung away yet.  “What other things do you _do_ , and can I get on _that_ list?”

Spider-Man groaned and kissed him, open-mouthed and eager, and Johnny made a small, needy sound against his tongue.  He’d hoped for this, but had never expected it, not once in the thousand times he had played this scenario in his brain.

“Your lips are super soft,” Spider-Man mumbled, awkward and endearing.

“You taste like burgers and fries,” Johnny responded, just to see what he would say.

“So do you, dumbass.”

Johnny laughed, breathless, as the world narrowed to that single moment.  He felt Spider-Man’s fingers tighten in his curls, saw the lenses on his mask reflecting the orange glow of sunset, and breathed in the sweet-sharp scent of web fluid on Spidey’s skin, like the world’s most distinct aftershave.

“Do you want me to—” Spider-Man hesitated, swallowed, and Johnny knew.

“Hey,” he said with infinite, cursed patience.  “You don’t have to if you’re not ready. Keep it on.  It’s hot.”

“I should have known,” Spider-Man said against his lips.

“I’m making out with Spider-Man,” Johnny said.  His lips stung where Spider-Man’s touched. “How many people can even say that?”

“Oh. Well—”

Johnny groaned and he laughed.  “Don’t ruin the moment.”

Spider-Man kissed him again, and Johnny let himself stop thinking.  There would be time for unmasking later. Time to know his name and his face and everything else.

But he was Johnny Storm, and he really should have known better than that.

 

+

 

One year to the day since Spider-Man disappeared, and the world still talked about him as if it missed him. Johnny glared at the latest special running on TV and curled his lip in distaste.  On screen, a clip of network journalists chasing down a familiar face was playing, showing the pair hurrying down Park Avenue as fast as two people could without running outright, until their quarry stopped in the middle of the street and turned around to look straight at the camera.

“For the last time, I don’t know who he is, I don’t know his face, and I don’t know where he went!” Peter Parker, photographer (said the label underneath his image), snapped.  Now quit following me! And tell all your other friends to do the same.”

Johnny tilted his head, wondering, not for the first time, what had become of Peter since.  Did he still take pictures? Had he found someone new to pester? Johnny had long stopped paying attention to the Daily Bugle beyond checking the headline in the hopes of another patented J. Jonah Jameson rant about how Spidey was a menace despite having saved New York for the nth time.  He would take it — libelous and offensive as it would likely be — if it meant the web-head was back.

But there was nothing.  There was never anything.  The TV stations kept making stupid specials with the same recycled footage that grew more and more hollow every time, and Johnny kept on watching them because they were all that was left.

“For heaven’s sake, kid,” Ben said, on his hands and knees not far away.  Franklin was climbing all over him like a jungle gym, giggling. “If the show’s upsettin’ you, turn it off.”

Johnny blinked blankly at him. “What?”

“You’re makin’ that face, like you jus’ ate Susie’s meatloaf special.  Watch somethin’ else.”

Johnny stared.

Ben got to his feet, grumbling, a weakly flailing Franklin under one arm, and snatched up the remote.  On the screen was a shot of the sky over Manhattan with a message, already beginning to fade, written against the blue in twenty-foot tall flames.

_Spidey, where are you?  Meet me at the usual place._

Johnny remembered all the dozens of times he’d written that.  He’d gotten used to the mockery and the rumors and had stopped caring months ago.

Ben paused as the voiceover made a comment about “the Human Torch’s strange obsession” and growled low in his throat.

“Ben,” Johnny started.  “Don’t—”

The screen blinked into blackness and Johnny lunged forward, snatching the remote control out of Ben’s hand.  He turned the TV back on just in time for rare clear footage of Spider-Man, red and blue, spinning between skyscrapers as though he weighed nothing. As though laws of things like physics and gravity only applied to him at his own convenience.

Johnny dropped the remote and sat back down.

“Ben,” he heard his sister’s voice say, and Johnny looked up, wondering when she had gotten there.  Sue was looking right at him. “Could you take Franklin up to the roof deck for a bit? He could do with some play time in the sun for a while.”

Ben glanced between one Storm and the other and walked out.

Sue picked up the remote control.

“Sue, please—”

“It’s all right.  I’m not turning it off, see? Just picking this up so Ben doesn’t step on it. Again,” she said, laying it on the coffee table.  “Mind if I join you?”

Johnny slowly shook his head.

She sat down next to him and Johnny tensed, preparing himself for some kind of lecture.  Instead, she asked, “Do you want to talk, Johnny?”

And Johnny hated it.  The gentle tone as if he would break. The expression on her face, tinged with pity.  The concern, as if he were six years old and helpless.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Johnny.  The rest of us liked him, too, you know.  He’s our friend, too.”

Johnny gave her a scornful glance.  “It’s not remotely the same, and you know it.”

“I don’t actually.  Johnny, please. Just talk to me.  You know you can tell me anything.”

He said nothing, studiously avoiding her gaze.

“It’s been a year,” she said gently.  “If anything, this is long overdue. Please talk to me?”

Johnny took a deep breath, feeling a bubble in his chest that was threatening to explode.  When he opened his mouth, it did—in a torrent of words. “It’s just—No one knows what even happened to him.  There wasn’t some grand battle where he got hurt. We didn’t see him whisked away by aliens or whatever. None of his villains—and they never shut up—have stepped up to claim the credit for getting rid of him.  For all we know, he just...stopped showing up to work one day.”

“It happens,” she sighed.  “People in our line of work — especially the ones working alone — can’t keep doing it forever.  Maybe he got tired of it. Maybe his family asked him to stop. There are a thousand maybes it could have been.”

Johnny laughed bitterly.  “But he _wasn’t_ alone.  He had—He had us...He had me.” He finished the sentence quietly, the word almost a whisper.  “I thought...I thought he knew that.”

Sue frowned at him.  “What do you mean?”

“I hope you’re right,” Johnny said.  “Even if it hurts, I hope you’re right and he just retired or something.  Just woke up one day and gave it—gave it all up. I’ll take him not actually caring about how I feel over him being gone forever.”

A pause.  “Johnny, you get to be as sad as you want, but why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

He gave a wild, hollow laugh.  “What, like the fact that I was stupidly in love with a guy whose name and face I didn’t even know?”

“Oh, Johnny,” Sue said, putting a hand on the back of his head and pulling it to rest on her shoulder.  “Everyone with eyes already knew that.”

“God.  Well, that’s embarrassing.  My biggest secret and everyone was in on it.”

Sue laughed.  “Well. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.  Besides, you’ve done a terrible job of hiding it, what with all the periodic skywriting asking to meet in the ‘usual place,’ wherever that is.”

Johnny snorted, even though his heart still felt like there was a fist clenched around it.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Sue asked knowingly.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.  In his mind, he could still see Spider-Man’s reckless grin slowly disappearing as he lowered his mask.  He could still hear the loud whoop as the vigilante jumped backwards off the Statue of Liberty. He could still taste that last kiss.

“I kissed him,” he admitted, saying the words out loud for the first time.

“You kissed him?”

“On the Statue of Liberty.”

“The Statue of Liberty, really?”

“That was the usual place,” he mumbled.  “And he kissed me back. We—We were up there for hours.  It was...It was sunset and pretty and I thought it was perfect. But I guess it wasn’t, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that was the last time I ever saw him.” He hunched in on himself, burying his face further into her shoulder.  He’d been an idiot to think that they had time on their side. “As far as I know, it was the last time anyone did.”

Sue’s fingers dug into his scalp.  “Oh, Johnny,” she breathed, sounding faintly horrified.  “Johnny, I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, eyes still closed.

“Is there anything you need me to do?  Anything you want?”

Johnny shook his head.

“Johnny, you can’t sit in here all day watching videos about him.  It’s not going to help.”

“I know, I know.  I’ll—I’ll go out. Or something.  Find some distraction or whatever.”

Sue didn’t say anything, even though she probably knew what Johnny meant by a distraction.  He’d done it often enough — getting into parties and exclusive clubs he hadn’t been invited to as if he’d been meant to be there all along.  He would get wasted and end up in yet another scandal with some random person he’d never see again. Gossip sites would have a field day, and eventually everyone would move on.  

Except Johnny.  He would just start it all over again.

He began to pull away.

“Johnny.”

“Yeah?”

“Reed and I were supposed to go to an event tonight.  Some business launch. But you can go in my place if you want.”

He hesitated, knowing this was Sue’s way of compromising.  Johnny could go and be the center of attention somewhere someone could keep an eye on him.  “It’s going to be terribly boring, isn’t it?”

Sue smiled faintly.  “Not with you there, maybe.  Please, Johnny? I’d just feel better if you were with Reed.”

He sighed.  He could always cut out if no one caught his interest.  Reed could be surprisingly fast, but Johnny could fly at the speed of sound and outrun him any day.  “Fine,” he said at last. “Just this once, I’ll take a chaperone.”

 

+

 

The launch party was, surprisingly, not as dull as Johnny had expected from the type of gatherings Reed usually dragged them to, which were usually attended by stuffy academics or executives.  Instead, this party was full of people closer to his age, even though there were still a few of the former two in attendance.

Johnny had no idea what had brought them all together, even after over half an hour of mingling, but he didn’t really care, anyway.  He’d already met who he thought might be the most interesting person of the night — some slightly older high-powered lawyer with a smile like a shark, but with a handsome face and green eyes that promised Johnny all sorts of things.  Johnny had been just about ready to pull him into some secluded spot and see if he meant everything he was promising, but then a tall woman had swooped in and started to drag the man away, citing work.

He shrugged, swearing to be back as soon as he could, and left Johnny standing alone, frustrated.

Johnny picked up a flute of champagne from a tray a steward was holding out and absently took a sip.  He’d lost track of Reed almost as soon as they got there, but he was sure that Reed hadn’t lost track of _him_.  It didn’t matter. Johnny couldn’t see him and he could do whatever he wanted without having to suffer glances of disapproval or, worse, concern.

Johnny turned, meaning to go around the room to see if perhaps Mr. Green Eyes _wasn’t_ the best the night had to offer, and immediately bumped into someone’s back — someone lean and broad-shouldered, brown hair curling into the nape of his neck, a few locks sticking out in odd directions, as if fingers had tugged them out of a careful attempt to control them.

The man took a step forward, further away from Johnny, and slowly turned around.

Recognition hit him instantly.  There were flashes of memory, of a skinny teen, all sharp bones and sarcasm.  And a college kid, slightly more filled out but still razor-tongued. And fresher than those, the image of a besieged young man on TV, angrily stating that he knew nothing about Spider-Man.

The man quirked one thick eyebrow in response to Johnny’s stare.  “Storm. Did you forget who I am?”

“You’re that annoying photographer,” Johnny said without thinking, and his throat felt like he’d swallowed a wooden cube, something with too many corners and splinters to go down smoothly.

“ _Former_ photographer,” he corrected mildly, with a rueful smile, ignoring Johnny’s choice of adjective.  It only made the cube splinter further, hard points and edges digging into Johnny’s airways.

“Parker.”

“You _do_ remember me.”

“I always remember people who get under my skin,” Johnny said, then wondered why he did.  He’d had four glasses of champagne already and felt incredibly chill. Maybe that was why his tongue was loose.

“Did I?” Parker asked innocently, blinking over a glass of champagne, as if he didn’t already know the answer to that.

Something about him was throwing Johnny off.  The Peter Parker in his memories dressed in old baggy clothes that were always wrinkled or somehow askew, his unruly hair made worse by the nervous habit of running his own fingers through it.  But this Peter wore a perfectly pressed suit and expensive black loafers. The suit didn’t quite fit — the jacket snug around the shoulders and the shirt ever so slightly too big around the middle while being a little tight around the chest, but it was still leagues better than anything Johnny had ever seen him in.  His hair had been somewhat tamed tonight, too. But then Johnny remembered the back of Peter’s head that he’d seen just earlier, the locks that had fallen prey to his nerves, and smiled a little.

“Something funny, Storm?” Peter asked, brows knitting together in a frown.  And, oh, Johnny remembered this, too. How, even with the most civil of beginnings, the two of them would wind up taking offense way too easily over imagined slights, until it just ended in a lot of insults that somehow always hit the mark.

Johnny knocked back half of his champagne.  “I was just wondering.”

“Wondering what?” Peter asked, politely pleasant, his eyes already skimming the crowd beyond him, and Johnny found himself feeling more than a little offended.

 _I’m right here,_ he thought. _You’re supposed to look at_ me _._  “I was wondering when you got to be this hot,” he finished.  He was being sincere, although he was mostly motivated by curiosity and the desire to see how Peter would respond.

It brought Peter’s attention back, at least, a slow flush creeping up his neck, just as Johnny had imagined.  Peter eyed him appraisingly. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” he answered.  It was only half a lie. His mind was still clear, even though his mouth seemed like it was running away from him.

“Uh-huh. And you’re just attempting to flirt with me completely sober.”

“Attempting? You mean I’m not succeeding?” Johnny asked cheekily.

Peter’s eyebrows shot up.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Okay. Okay. Here, hold this for a bit—”

He accepted the glass Johnny suddenly thrust at him, looking bemused but too fascinated to just walk away.

Johnny snapped his fingers — unnecessarily, but a little showmanship never hurt — and flamed on for two seconds.  That was unnecessary, too. He could have easily boiled the alcohol out of his bloodstream without the fire show, but he wanted to make an impression.  He wanted to make it absolutely clear.

Peter wordlessly handed back his champagne, the only person who hadn’t budged or flinched or gasped when Johnny had flamed on.  Infuriatingly, he seemed utterly unfazed. “What was that all about?”

“I’m sober. We can have a proper conversation, if that’s what you want. You can be a jerk and then I can come back with something clever.””

“ _That’s_ your idea of a proper conversation?”

Johnny shrugged.  “It is by our standards.  Or, instead of insulting you, I guess I could keep flirting with you.  If you’re interested.”

“I mean, has there ever been a difference?”

Johnny blinked at him.  Oh. _Oh._ Peter was smirking at him, playing the game.  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Parker,” he said, taking another swig of champagne, a bit upset that he now had to start getting drunk all over again.  “I just haven’t seen you around in a while, is all.”

“Are you trying to tell me you missed me?”

He wondered how to answer that, when he couldn’t truthfully say Parker had not once crossed his mind when he’d thought about him just earlier that day.  “How have you been, anyway?” Johnny asked, choosing to ignore it completely. He surreptitiously looked him over one more time. He looked fine. He looked more than fine, and Johnny suddenly wanted to know what this upgraded version of Peter Parker had been doing this whole time. “It’s like you disappeared from orbit after—”

 _After Spider-Man vanished_ , Johnny meant to say, but found that he couldn’t.

“Did you _want_ to see me? And I’ve been busy with work.”

It was Johnny’s turn to be puzzled.  “Taking pictures?” he asked dubiously. Just because Peter wasn’t taking photos of Spider-Man didn’t necessarily mean he’d quit. Johnny remembered seeing him in posh gatherings before, dressed badly and with his camera slung around his neck. But he was far better-dressed at the moment and there was no camera in sight.

Peter laughed, sharp and patronizing. “No, Johnny,” he said, and Johnny felt like Electro had just shoved a hand into his spine at the sound of his name coming from Peter’s mouth.

Someone came up to them just then, a man with a widow’s peak and auburn hair arranged in short, tight curls. He looked vaguely familiar, like someone Johnny ought to know. “Pete, it’s almost time.”

“Be right there, Harry. Just saying hi to an old...friend.”

Harry glanced at Johnny and did a double-take, recognition flickering in his eyes in the same instant it flared in Johnny’s brain. Harry Osborn, of course — only son of Norman Osborn, the head of a massive pharmaceutical and biochemical corporation. Dimly, Johnny wondered why Reed had decided to come to what now seemed to be an Osborn event, when he usually had unflattering things to say about the company. “Okay, Pete. Just don’t put it off too long. It’s not doing either of us favors. If I have to feel this nervous for half an hour longer, I’m going to throw up.”

“Almost time for what?” Johnny asked after Harry had wandered away.

Peter made a face. “A speech. I keep telling Harry people only care what _he_ has to say, but—”

“A speech? What for?”

He looked amused now. “Do you really have no idea what kind of party you’ve crashed?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “I’m not crashing. We were invited.”

Peter’s smile faded. “We?”

“I meant Reed. I’m with Reed. Sue couldn’t make it,” Johnny hastily clarified, not knowing why it felt important that he did.

“Oh. Good.” Peter cleared his throat. “Well. It was...nice to see you again, but I need to make that speech now.”

Johnny stepped closer. Peter looked surprised but didn’t move. “Hang on a second,” he said, and put a hand on Peter’s tie.

Peter’s back snapped straight, and Johnny tried not to think about how warm he felt, with nothing but a thin layer of fabric between Johnny’s fingertips and his skin.

“Your tie is crooked,” Johnny explained, his own voice coming to him as if through layers of wool packed in his ears. He expertly centered the knot with his free hand and smoothed the tie down.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Johnny said, his hand still resting on Peter’s chest.

Peter reached up and gently pulled it away, his thumb against Johnny’s pulse burning. “Johnny.”

He snapped back into focus, suddenly realizing that he’d basically just felt Peter Parker up, and yanked his hand back. He swallowed. “Right. Speech. Break a leg or whatever.”

Peter gave him a long look as he backed away. “Hey. You really want to know what I’ve been up to all this time?”

“Sure. I’m all about this new and improved Peter Parker.”

One side of Peter’s mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. Johnny remembered finding it annoying once, because it usually came with mockery that cut too close to the bone. “Stick around.”

Johnny poured all the rest of his champagne into his mouth and watched him go. He felt hot, which was just as strange as him feeling cold. It wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. He made his way toward the front of the room to listen, finding both another glass of champagne and Reed at an otherwise empty table near the back.

“I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with the CEO of Parker-Osborn,” Reed said.

That brought him up short. “Parker’s the CEO of what now?” Johnny gaped.

“The Parker-Osborn Company.” Reed nodded at Harry Osborn, pulling Peter towards the front of the room. “He and Harry Osborn partnered up. Osborn’s money, Parker’s intellectual property. It’s an interesting combination.”

“What intellectual property?”

Reed gave him a look.  “Really, Johnny. If you paid attention to the world of science and engineering at all—”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“—you’d know they made a tidy sum licensing one of Parker’s inventions last year and started the company with that, combined with Osborn’s own fortune. A lot of people wanted that license, including Oscorp itself, and I’m glad they’ve realized they’re better off working on their own terms.”

Johnny made a non-committal noise. He wasn’t interested enough to ask about particulars, but he was maybe a little impressed. But then, he’d known Peter was smart enough to intern for Reed, so perhaps that achievement was just a matter of course.

Reed cleared his throat. “Anyway, I hope you’ve managed not to antagonize him this time?”

“Don’t be silly, Reed. I’ve upped my flirting game since the last time we saw each other.”

Reed choked on a canapé. “What?”

Johnny ignored him and faced front, where Peter had climbed onto a small podium with a microphone. His gaze swept the crowd and caught on Johnny, who tipped his glass and swallowed his champagne in one go while staring him directly in the eye.

Peter’s fingers tightened around the mic stand.

“I liked it better when you were fighting, I think,” Reed said dryly.

“Oh, but this is much more entertaining,” Johnny said absently as Peter began to speak.

Reed frowned. “Johnny. Susan told me. You know...about Spider-Man.”

Johnny felt a pang somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “Of course, she did.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid, all right?”

Johnny smirked at him, tamping down the rest of his feelings. “Don’t worry. Given all my options here, I’ll probably be doing someone smart.”

Reed sighed. “If you must. But please—pick someone better than the lawyer you had your eye on earlier.”

Reed really _hadn’t_ lost track of him, Johnny realized.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again,” his brother-in-law continued, because Reed Richards worried about everything all the time.

Up at the front of the room, Peter had finished thanking everyone for coming and was now on a roll about the company’s visions and goals, beaming across the low stage at Harry, who nodded in acknowledgement, eyes anxiously sweeping the room. Johnny sat in silence for a while, listening to his earnest idealism, watching his serious face as he insisted that his company would devote itself to bettering the lives of the average person, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that half the people in the room would rather be told how Parker would make them rich.

Johnny grabbed Reed’s drink and downed that, too, ignoring his raised eyebrows. Suddenly, he wanted to do something reckless. Something stupid.

“Johnny? Did you hear me? I said—”

“He won’t hurt me, Reed,” Johnny said at last, mind made up. Reed glanced at Peter, who was still going on. “He’s absurdly, inexplicably attractive, but he’s a nerd. I can set people on fire. How could he possibly hurt me?”

 

+

 

Johnny dodged the green-eyed lawyer from earlier, waiting for Peter to find him after all the speeches were over. The latter kept getting interrupted on his way towards Johnny, who was determined to stay in his line of sight while eluding the other guy whose name he couldn’t even remember anymore.

Johnny didn’t know why going after Peter felt more like diving off the edge of a cliff than sticking with the lawyer would have. Surely, the latter was more of a jerk. But then, he was a very specific type of jerk that Johnny was accustomed to dealing with, and Johnny knew what that type always wanted.

But Peter...Johnny had no clue what Peter would be like in bed.  He’d seen all the girls the guy had had on his arm in the past—all completely out of his league. There had to have been some reason why they found him so irresistible, and being good in the sack was the best guess Johnny could come up with because he sure didn’t have a winning personality.

The lawyer closed in, to Johnny’s irritation, and Peter was still stuck talking to an elderly couple. He caught a brief glimpse of Peter’s eyes darting in their direction, before the lawyer finally blocked his view.

The man’s eyes were just as sharp and predatory as before, and his smile made him look like he had way too many teeth.  He crowded Johnny against the table, and any other time his assertiveness would have been a turn on. Any other time he would have wanted those teeth at his neck. Now he was just getting in the way. “Where were we, Mr. Storm?”

“About to say goodbye,” said a voice bluntly, and Johnny blinked in surprise at seeing Peter suddenly standing right there.

The lawyer took one look at him, raised his hands, and quickly turned away.

Peter frowned, attention now completely on Johnny. “You,” he began in a low voice as he dragged Johnny by the elbow to an empty balcony, “are a distraction.”

“Well, I _was_ trying,” Johnny admitted. “No one told you to keep looking at me, though.”

Peter chuckled darkly. “I was looking at everyone! Harry told me to make sure I did that.  For instance, I noticed Reed looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up when you started licking your fingers.”

“Those little quail egg canapés were tasty, but the yolk broke on mine and it got messy,” Johnny protested.

He squeezed Johnny’s elbow. “What do you want from me, Storm?”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m not after your money, Mr. Hot Shot CEO. So you can rest easy about that.”

“You know what I mean. I’m not playing games now.”

His intensity got to Johnny, and the jokes died in his throat. “I just want to have fun, Parker.”

His mouth twisted, and Johnny didn’t know him well enough to tell whether it was from disappointment or distaste.  “Fun. Is that what this is about?”

Johnny’s vision swam. For a moment, he was back on top of the Statue of Liberty, being asked the same question by someone else.  He hastily shoved the memory to the back of his mind. Besides, what was wrong with having fun? He told himself it was fine. Sure, Parker was nothing to him. He didn’t even like the guy, this weird attraction that had popped up from nowhere aside.  But if it meant that he could pretend that he wasn’t alone, even just for one night, Johnny would take it. “I just want to forget how fucked up everything is.” _How_ I’ve _fucked everything up._

Peter laughed again, sharper and tinged with scorn.  It was a knife twisting in Johnny’s gut, but he tried to ignore the feeling.  “What do you know about fucked up anything, golden boy? _Human Torch?_ ”

“You’re pissing me off.  I get that’s our thing, but all it makes me want to do right now is shove you up against a wall and—”

Peter beat him to it, pushing him against the balcony railing, bending him slightly backwards over the edge and suddenly kissing him.  It wasn’t a sweet kiss, by any means. Not flirty or teasing, or anything remotely appropriate for a first kiss. It was hot and greedy.  The press of Peter’s mouth against his was nearly bruising, and Johnny’s fingers were crushing the lapels of Peter’s jacket in his grip.

Johnny felt more drunk than his three glasses of champagne should have made him when Peter pulled away. _Wow._ He stared at Peter’s mouth, wet and dark. He licked his own lips, swallowed, and tried to form words. “Your place or mine?” he finally managed.

Peter’s dark eyes were unreadable in the moonlight. “Mine’s closer.”

 

+

 

The taxi ride to Peter’s place was excruciating. All Johnny could think about was that kiss. Peter’s mouth on his and maybe other parts of his body.

Johnny leaned in closer, aware of Peter’s sudden sharp intake of breath, and whispered. “This is why you hire a limo for the night, cheapskate.”

“Sorry I didn’t take into account desperate men throwing themselves at me when I planned my night,” came the immediate retort.

“Who are you calling desperate?” Johnny asked, moving closer. Close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Peter’s ear. He glanced at the driver out of the corner of his eye and, satisfied that he was focused on driving, put a hand on Peter’s knee.

Peter’s jaw flexed and Johnny squeezed his thigh, hand slowly drifting upward—

Peter’s fingers on his wrist stopped him, pulled his hand away. “You’re going to get us arrested if you keep that up,” he said. “Just a few more blocks. That’s all.”

“I could just fly us there.”

Peter squeezed his wrist briefly before placing Johnny’s hand back on his own lap. “Just wait. I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

Johnny leaned his head back, pulse thrumming. Peter was an asshole, delivering a promise like that so easily and carelessly, looking completely unaffected even while Johnny was shaking in anticipation.

The car rolled to a stop not five minutes later and Peter blindly tossed money at the driver before dragging Johnny out with him. It must have been enough, because the cab peeled away as soon as the door slammed shut.

Peter’s apartment itself was on the top floor with a skylight in the living room which, despite its prime location in a good building in a decent neighborhood, still seemed incredibly modest for someone whose worth was steadily climbing up by thousands and thousands daily. At least that was what Google had told him, when Johnny’s confusion and curiosity halfway through Peter’s speech had driven him to look the man up.

Johnny started to comment on this as he turned around, only to find himself face to face with Peter, who was kicking the front door shut behind him.  The look on his face made the words stick in Johnny’s throat.

And then Peter was kissing him again, pushing him into the nearest wall, and it was difficult enough to think, let alone string words together into sentences.  All Johnny could manage was a small whimper, mind flying as Peter’s lips and hands roamed every inch of his exposed skin.

 _God, this is insane_ , Johnny thought, eyes falling half-shut when Peter’s mouth slotted perfectly back into his in a deep kiss that stole the breath from his lungs.  He felt hands on his waist, holding him steady, and Peter’s body pressed flush against his, his undeniable arousal immediately obvious, and Johnny made noises into his mouth, high and pathetic. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d wanted someone this badly, couldn’t understand what it was about Peter that was driving him crazy. And when Peter’s hips began to move, grinding slow and leisurely against his, it was all Johnny could do to stop yet another groan of pleasure from escaping his throat.

Peter broke their last kiss, lips mere centimeters from Johnny’s. “You know, I’ve never done something like this before,” he mused, running his hands down Johnny’s arms, the touch shooting sparks to his spine.

“Which part?” Johnny asked, staring at his lips, trying to will them back on his. Peter’s fingers slowly encircled his wrists. “The random hook-up, one-night stands, sex with a guy?”

Peter threw Johnny’s arms up against the wall, on either side of his head, and pinned them there. Johnny tested his grip and found himself even more turned on when it proved difficult to break. Peter’s expression at his realization was smug. “I was talking about going home with a dumb blond.”

Johnny blinked then started to laugh, breathless because of many things — not the least of which was Peter sliding one leg between his and nudging Johnny’s stance wider, making room for himself there. “You asshole.”

“I’m more of a dick, if you get my drift,” Peter said, and pushed against Johnny extra-hard, slamming his hips forward and making Johnny’s eyes roll back in his head.

And it was so much, Johnny felt intoxicated, drunk on everything Peter — his scent, his mouth, his rich brown eyes, his strong hands, rolling his hips in a promise of what was to come. Peter pressed his face against Johnny’s neck, warmth breath shallow and fast as he continued to move. He kissed him where it was convenient, teeth biting, tongue licking, and mouth sucking in a frenzy and Johnny knew he was going to have half a dozen hickeys tomorrow, at least, and every one of them would have been worth it — worth _this_ , this maddening friction, the promise of Peter’s cock rubbing against his, hard and thick through the layers of their clothes.

“Oh my G—” the rest of Johnny’s sentence evaporated, lost in the wordless cry as he came. His release was so unexpected, catching him almost completely by surprise, that it felt more intense than any in his recent memory. His back arched and his entire body convulsed before abruptly going limp.

Peter let go of his wrists in surprise and Johnny slumped against him, weak in the aftermath. “Did you just—”

Johnny buried his face in Peter’s shoulder. He felt hot all over in a way that had nothing to do with his powers.

“Hey,” Peter said quietly, suddenly still. “You okay?”

“What the fuck,” Johnny swore, struggling to get himself under control because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Johnny was used to being the one driving men out of their minds, not the other way around. “You are nothing at all like I expected.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Johnny started to laugh weakly. “Parker, you made me come in my pants. What do you think?”

Peter’s hands came up to cradle Johnny’s head, gently raising it so he could look him in the face. “Do you want to keep going?” he asked anxiously, and Johnny almost laughed. As if ending there was an option. As if stopping short of actual sex wouldn’t drive Johnny insane.

Johnny kissed him, sloppy and hungry, trying to tell him that he wanted nothing more than to be shoved face-first into the mattress and fucked within an inch of his life.

Peter seemed to get the message, peeling himself away from Johnny long enough to lead him further into the apartment, to a bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed and not much else.

Johnny looked around, noting the nearly absent decor and minimal clutter. “Did you just move in or something?”

Peter looked puzzled. “No. I’ve lived here for a year. Why?”

“Where’s all your stuff?”

Peter shrugged, pushing him down onto the mattress. “Does it matter?”

Johnny supposed it didn’t. What did the lack of personality in Peter’s bedroom matter to him when it had nothing to do with Peter’s apparent ability to give Johnny orgasms while barely doing anything?

Peter, on his knees, hovered over Johnny lying on his back. Johnny felt strangely exposed beneath that piercing gaze, wondering why it was that Peter seemed to know him so well—how to kiss him, how to touch him, how to annoy him just right to make the sex have that edge.

“Does this count as hate sex?” he wondered aloud before he could stop to think.

Peter’s laugh was low, the sound of it doing funny things to Johnny’s stomach. “Do you really hate me, Johnny?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

Johnny thought about all the sniping, the carefully crafted insults that had almost felt like a game. It had been fun, more than anything, and Johnny knew himself well enough to know that Peter had always gotten his blood boiling only half out of anger.

“Storm.”

Johnny shook himself out of his thoughts. “No, but I’m liking you less and less the longer you’re not doing anything.”

Peter’s eyes sparkled and he grinned, teeth flashing white even in the dim light. “Take off your clothes, Johnny.”

Johnny sat up, shrugged off his black designer jacket and shirt, and tossed them over the edge of the bed defiantly. He unfastened his pants and worked them and his come-stained boxers slowly down his hips, only to have his half-formed plan to tease him literally ripped out of his hands by Peter yanking them off them rest of the way.

Johnny would hate him if it wasn’t such a strange turn on.

“Your turn,” he said, conscious of Peter’s appreciative gaze raking down his body.

Peter loosened his tie and pulled it off with agonizing slowness. Predictably, Johnny’s focus narrowed down to it, thinking about how many different ways it could be useful tonight. He could picture it over his eyes, between his teeth, around his neck...He glanced up at Peter’s face, hopeful.

“Where do you want it?” He asked calmly, and Johnny wondered when he had become so easy to read.

He held out his wrists, crossed together, wordlessly.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure you trust me enough for that?”

“I can set you on fire,” Johnny reminded him. But the answer was also, oddly, yes. Peter wouldn’t hurt him. Not if Johnny didn’t want him to.

Peter blinked. “If you’re sure,” he said, and carefully wrapped the length of fabric around Johnny’s wrists, knotting it neatly and expertly. “How’s that?”

Johnny tested it. It was tight enough to keep his wrists together, but loose enough not to cut off circulation. “You seem pretty good at this,” he said blandly, holding up his hands. “Have plenty of experience?”

Peter laughed, fingers skimming Johnny’s bare thighs as he leaned in. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Johnny arched into his touch and into his mouth. He wondered how many men and women Peter had brought here. How many of them he’d fucked the way he was about to fuck Johnny. How many he’d give the same look that could melt glass. How many of them he even remembered.

It suddenly mattered so very much that Peter remember him.

Peter pulled away, pushing Johnny down onto his back again none too gently, and quickly lost the rest of his clothes.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Johnny breathed. “God.”

“You can call me Peter,” Peter quipped, looking amused.

Johnny couldn’t even be irritated by his arrogant smirk because he had every right to it. He had a beautiful body — well-defined, well-proportioned muscles in a lean athlete’s build. “All those years...that terrible fashion sense. You’ve been hiding _this_ under that all this time?”

Peter looked down at himself.

Johnny’s eyes drank in his chest, his arms, those perfect abs, and—oh. _Oh._ “ _Fuck_ me,” he moaned.

“Yeah, thought that was the plan,” he said, leaning over him. “How do you want this?”

Johnny could hardly think, his hormone-addled brain only letting him say “Guh?” in response, unable to be coherent over the sudden wave of lust flooding through him.

“Yeah, okay. Guess that’s up to me, then,” he said, which Johnny was totally fine with. Peter lifted Johnny’s bound wrists up over his head and hooked the tie binding them together on the end of a swirl of iron filigree on the headboard. And, okay, Johnny refused to believe he’d never done that before — the move was too smooth and quick — but then Peter’s lips were on his again, and Johnny forgot to call him out on it.

Peter kissed him slowly, tongue gently uncurling inside Johnny’s mouth, sliding and stroking past his own. Johnny hummed into his mouth and began kissing back with fervor, hoping to coax him into something less slow, less measured, less controlled.

Peter responded by breaking away. “Not. Yet,” he said firmly, and it finally dawned on Johnny that letting Peter tie him up had been a very bad idea because the man was an enormous fucking _tease_.

_Shit._

Peter turned Johnny’s face to one side to kiss him just under the ear, lips burning a trail down the sensitive side of Johnny’s neck and sending a tremor down through his body that made his toes curl.

“Did you like that?” Peter asked, innocence wholly feigned, noticing his reaction.

“Fuck you,” Johnny said, and meant it.

Peter’s lips brushed along Johnny’s collarbone before he stretched back up, back to kissing Johnny on the mouth, slipping his tongue between his teeth just once before pulling away again.

Johnny wanted to scream.

“I’ll stop teasing you if you want me to,” Peter murmured, slowly sucking and kissing his way down Johnny’s neck.  The places he lingered already felt tender, and Johnny guessed he was simply following the same marks he’d placed earlier, deepening the bruises rather than making more. “Tell me to stop.”

Johnny must have been a sucker for punishment because he gritted his teeth and said nothing.

Peter moved further downward, placed kisses over Johnny’s heart, and paused for two full seconds before drawing Johnny’s nipple between his lips.

Johnny gasped and rose up slightly, thrusting his chest at Peter’s face, the scrape of teeth both painful and exquisite over the sensitive bud. _“Peter,”_ he breathed, and proceeded to say his name over and over again, cramming as many as he could in a single breath like a mantra. And, oh, the bite was perfect, followed by the soothing balm of his tongue, swirling around the hard nub of flesh before he sucked it back into his mouth. “Fuck yes,” Johnny hissed as Peter licked across his chest to capture the other half of the pair to do the same, and Johnny thought he might just lose his mind.

Peter paused his ministrations to study him, and Johnny wondered what he was seeing. He could see how red his own chest was, could assume the flush extended all the way up his neck and face. He wasn’t sure what expression he wore. Desperate, perhaps. Hungry. Peter shifted lower, the fingertips of each hand lazily stroking one steady line from his ankles up to his calves, to the back of his knees. His hands lingered there before finally pulling them up and pushing them apart in one smooth motion, Johnny’s feet still planted on the mattress, baring what lay between his legs for Peter to see.

Johnny began to tremble.

Peter straightened, kneeling between Johnny’s legs, taking him in. “You’re perfect,” Peter whispered, eyes hot with desire, and the note of wonder in his voice felt like a needle lancing through his heart. Johnny wanted to believe him. Surely, he had to be, if Peter was looking at him like that.

“Kiss me,” Johnny begged, straining against his bonds. “Please?”

Peter kissed him, and this time it was exactly what Johnny wanted—hard and bruising, thoroughly taking as much as Johnny was ready to give and then some. He dragged himself away reluctantly after several long minutes, chest heaving, and swore.

Johnny looked up at his face. “Pete? Is everything—Did I do something wrong?”

Peter shook his head. “No.”

“Then why are we stopping?”

“I’m trying to make up my mind about what to do with you,” he said bluntly.

 _Oh._ Johnny held his breath. “You can do anything you want.”

Peter grinned, moving back. “Probably not a good idea to give me blanket permission when I’ve got you all tied up.”

“Still capable of setting you on fire, Pete,” Johnny reminded him.

“Maybe I don’t mind being burned,” Peter said so softly, Johnny almost didn’t hear. He sank down, lightly raining kisses along Johnny’s knee and slowly, slowly moved up his thighs.

 _Oh, God_ , his brain started. _Oh, God. Ohgodohgodo—_

Johnny keened. He had expected Peter to go for his cock, to take it into his hands and start sucking him off. He hadn’t expected Peter’s tongue to be on his ass, tracing the rim of his hole, light as a feather, while his fingers dug into Johnny’s thighs, spreading him open wide. Johnny hadn’t expected this much at all. He had expected a quick fuck, over and done with, which he surely would have gotten had he chosen to go home with that sharp-toothed lawyer. He hadn’t been prepared for this merciless game, this perfect teasing, Peter’s tongue laying into him, circling his entrance, his nails scratching the inside of Johnny’s thighs.

Within minutes, he was a pitiful, whining mess, writhing restlessly under Peter, tugging uselessly at his restraints. His cock was rock hard and glistening with his own pre-come, leaking heavily, and he kept shoving his ass against Peter’s tongue in the hopes that he would do more with it.

Peter didn’t. He got up off the bed instead, and Johnny growled.

“Calm down, Flamebrain,” he said, walking to his desk. “Geez.”

“Peter. Peter, if you don’t shove something in my ass right now, I’m going to fucking lose it,”

Peter tossed a bottle of lube back onto the bed, where it landed next to Johnny’s hip, followed by a condom. “Happy?”

Johnny quivered. “Not _yet_.”

Peter climbed back into bed, poured lube onto the fingers of his left hand, and gently massaged around Johnny’s hole.

Johnny clenched his jaw. “Put it _in_ , damn you.”

“Not until you calm down.”

“I want you,” Johnny pleaded, trying a different tack even as he yanked at his restraints. “Please, I just—”

“I know. I know, okay?” Peter asked quietly, swallowing down something else, his brown eyes concerned. “You have me. Just calm down. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Johnny took a deep breath to get himself under control, nodding jerkily as he settled back down and stopped tugging on his bound wrists.

Peter’s eyes were fixed on his. “Okay?”

“I’m okay,” Johnny affirmed, still a little too quickly. This was as calm as he could get. He wanted Peter far too much.

Peter kissed him, slow and easy, and Johnny opened his mouth, eagerly kissing back. Peter broke the kiss and Johnny almost started to complain again, until he realized that something _else_ was happening. His breath stuttered, feeling one of Peter’s lubed fingers delicately tracing the rim of his entrance.

“Ready?” Peter asked.

“I was ready _yesterday_ , Pete.”

Peter pushed and God— Johnny cried out when the finger overcame his resistance and finally slid home.

“Fuck,” Peter whispered.

“More,” Johnny groaned.

“Johnny—”

“God, fuck. I can take it. I’m not some inexperienced virgin.”

“No, but you’re still so damn tight.”

“ _Now,_ Peter.”

Peter relented and slid a second finger in to join the first and oh— _oh_ , they felt wonderful, sliding in and out of Johnny just like that.

Johnny tossed his head as Peter’s hand moved slightly faster, eliciting a moan from his throat. The moan turned into a deep, guttural groan when Peter’s fingers suddenly curled and hit that one perfect spot. He bit his lip, eyes growing wide, as Peter found it, again and again.

“Let it out, Johnny,” Peter said. “Come on. You can scream if you want.”

Johnny’s wordless shout was followed by a stream of filthy phrases and helpless whimpers, until finally he started threatening to set Peter on fire again.

Peter reached up then, and unhooked Johnny’s wrists from the headboard. Johnny had time to wonder what was coming next before Peter flipped him over onto his face. He drew in a sharp breath the next instant, when Peter shoved three of his fingers back inside him, and Johnny was just _gone_ —all thoughts dissolving into nothing but sensory impressions, carving into his brain the sound of Peter’s breathing, his wet kisses on Johnny’s skin, his fingers exploring, his body heat.

Johnny whined into the mattress, pushed himself up to his hands and knees, and rocked back against the fingers stretching him open. “I need more. I can take it.”

“Okay. Just let me—”

“Forget the condom,” Johnny said impatiently when Peter started feeling around the mattress in search of it. “I’m clean, and if you are—we don’t need it.”

There was a pause followed by Peter peppering kisses down his back. “Okay. Okay, Johnny. I’ll give you what you want.”

“You want it just as much,” he pointed out.

Peter laughed breathlessly. “You got me there, firefly,” he said, and pulled his fingers out. He settled back on his knees behind Johnny, cock nestling heavily against his ass as he ran his hands down Johnny’s back. “You okay like this?”

“Just hurry up,” Johnny growled. Peter could fuck him upside down and Johnny wouldn’t care. He longed for release, and the fact that no one was paying any attention to his dick only made him ache more for it. He couldn’t even touch himself because his hands were bound, forcing him to use both of them to support his weight. His only hope was to feel Peter inside him.

Peter chuckled, weight shifting on top of the mattress, and Johnny finally felt the blunt tip of his cock at his entrance, the cold drip of more lube, and Peter’s bare skin hot and singing to Johnny’s own heat inside.

Johnny shuddered. “Peter, _now_.”

Peter fucked into him, firm thighs pushing Johnny forward so hard, he found himself driven face-first into a pillow, stifling his cry. Peter heard it anyway and paused.

Johnny pressed back, forcing himself up on trembling arms. The feeling of Peter finally inside him was incredible. “Don’t stop.”

“But—”

“I want it,” he insisted. “I don’t want gentle.”

To his credit, Peter wasn’t. He took him rough and fast, with enough force to rock the bed, and Johnny felt like he was flying, the world rapidly falling away and the sound of his own whimpers seeming to come from somewhere other than himself.

It was good. It was great. It was the best he’d felt in what seemed like forever. The stretch of Peter’s cock—the slight burn—reached through the clouds that had long fogged his brain. Johnny had slept around, but he couldn’t remember the last time sex had been this amazing.

Peter started moving slower, in longer, harder strokes that made something low in Johnny’s belly tighten. He could hear his own gasps, the broken sobs wrung from his chest, the heavy slamming of the headboard into the wall as Peter filled him again and again, nailing his prostate unerringly from behind and peppering kisses across Johnny’s shoulders in an obvious effort to make up for any pain.

But there was also something in the way Peter was holding him that was making him ache — a strange intimate tenderness that was adding a layer to what was just supposed to be mindless sex. Johnny wasn’t sure he liked it, even though his body was responding to it with even more warmth and desire. The combination of everything he was feeling was almost too much. Even without being touched once, his cock was leaking profusely, dripping wet onto the bedspread, and Johnny knew he was close. Peter, too, seemed to sense it, changing pace and shifting into faster, shallow thrusts—a steady barrage on his sweet spot that had him crying out.

Johnny came, finally, spilling onto the cool sheets with the faded smell of laundry, as if Peter didn’t sleep there often enough for his own scent to have rubbed off. His spine sank towards the mattress, hips held in place by Peter’s hands — fortunately, because Johnny’s own arms had become limp and boneless.

For a moment, everything was still, Johnny panting into the pillows as he caught his breath, Peter still deep inside him, unmoving. And then he was pulling out, and Johnny mumbled a half-coherent protest, knowing he wasn’t finished and wanting to see it through.

But Peter rolled him over onto his back and kissed him, oddly sweet, before working the tie around his wrists loose.

“You’re not done,” Johnny said, frowning.

“We’re not stopping,” Peter said, unwinding the tie and throwing it somewhere to the side. “I just want you to touch me.”

Johnny suddenly realized that him being tied up had in fact been as much torture for Peter as it had been for him.  All this time, it had been Peter’s hands and mouth on his body, driving him to heights of both pleasure and madness. Johnny had been too focused on himself, too intent on getting what he wanted and had been looking for all night to realize that no one was giving Peter the same.

He reached up, touched the side of his face, and ran the fingers of both hands through his hair, down the nape of his neck, and across his broad shoulders.

“God, your arms are fucking perfect,” Johnny groaned, skimming them with his fingertips, the feathery touch making Peter shiver. He moved his hands to Peter’s chest, gliding over the planes of hard muscle, down to his abs, his narrow waist, down—

Peter made a small sound when Johnny palmed his cock, eyes falling half- closed, and Johnny wrapped his hand around him for the first time. Peter groaned, thick eyelashes fluttering shut, and Johnny felt a surge of want.

“Peter.”

He opened his eyes and let Johnny guide him downward, positioning him back at his entrance, and slowly pushed him back in.

They moaned at the same time, and Johnny laughed, breathless. Peter thrust, slowly at first, making sure to let Johnny feel every inch of him, until he was fully sheathed.

Peter held still for a moment, hands slowly caressing Johnny’s thighs, before moving to the backs of his knees and slinging his legs up to rest against his shoulders. The position let him inch even further into Johnny, who gasped as he bottomed out.

And then Peter _moved_ , and Johnny gave up thinking entirely, becoming nothing more than a being of pure sensation, drowning himself in pleasure and hoping Peter felt the same. Whatever was outside of Peter’s bed was a worry for another day. Another Johnny, not the one bent in half and writhing on the end of Peter’s dick and begging for more. Peter obliged him, picking up the pace, and Johnny was glad that he could now see his face.  He could see the line of his brow as it furrowed, his lower lip caught between his teeth, the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Johnny ran one hand up Peter’s arm, and the touch sent him into a renewed frenzy, fucking into him even harder than before. Johnny gripped him tight, fingers digging into his bicep, and slipped one hand between them to touch himself. They were both so, _so_ close and that touch was all Johnny needed to push himself over the edge. Two strokes and he was lost, ropes of white stretching across his abdomen as he came.

And it was all Peter needed, too. Johnny clenching uncontrollably around him in his orgasm, so hot and tight. He came with a shout, emptying himself inside Johnny, who kept him close, whispering his name.

Peter withdrew, dropping feathery kisses all over Johnny’s face, and Johnny smiled up at him warmly, drowsy with exhaustion as he lowered his legs. He was covered in come and needed a shower, but he was too tired to move and Peter was crushing him in a _good_ way.

Johnny sighed.

“Johnny?”

“Five minutes,” he whispered, aware that it must sound nonsensical but unwilling to make an effort to elaborate. His eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep not long after.

 

+

 

When Johnny woke up, Peter was asleep beside him, the moonlight throwing his features in sharp relief. It wasn’t the worst sight in the world to wake up next to, Johnny had to admit. Hell, he’d had a crush on the _Bugle’s_ cute photographer for as long as he could remember, as annoying as he was. Somewhere along the way, Peter had gone beyond cute until he was full on hot and Johnny hadn’t noticed until now.

He absently raised a hand and ran a finger down the line of Peter’s slightly crooked nose, wondering how that had happened. A fight in high school, maybe? He’d been scrawny back then, with the ugliest eyeglasses in the world. An easy target. Not so easy now, perhaps, Johnny mused, finger moving steadily downward, tracing shapes over his broad chest. He drank the sight of him shamelessly. Peter Parker was gorgeous, not that anyone would see just how much when he was fully clothed — a tremendous shame.

Johnny wanted to stay under the covers with him forever. But that wasn’t what this had been about. He slipped out of bed, wincing, and padded across the room to a door he assumed led to the bath. He was sore and sticky and in desperate need of a cleanup before he left.

His assumption proved correct and he stood in the shower stall, adjusted the shower head, and turned on the water as hot as it could get, closing his eyes in bliss as it cascaded over him. He never really needed showers or baths — nothing could be more cleansing than thousand-degree flames, after all — but he still found them soothing and relaxing.

He had no idea how long he stood there, letting the water beat over his head and bare skin, but it was too long. Long enough that Peter woke up and found him there.

“Jesus, the steam in here is scalding,” his voice said from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Johnny opened his eyes. Peter was standing there, looking groggy and out of sorts and utterly adorable with his stupid hair sticking out in all directions. All it took was a single glance and Johnny knew it was too late.

_So much for sneaking out the window and going home._

“Human Torch,” Johnny reminded him, turning the water off and using his powers to cool the steam. “Better?”

Peter stood just outside the shower stall, eyeing Johnny. “This a private shower or can I jump in?”

Johnny hesitated. One night stands weren’t supposed to linger. Everything ended — _should_ end — once they were done in the bedroom.

“Or I guess I should butt out,” Peter said stiffly, stepping back. “Sorry. I’ll let you finish up and—”

Johnny grabbed him by the arm. “No. Wait— Stay.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Get in here, idiot,” Johnny said, and yanked him through the doorway. He moved Peter, oddly compliant, under the shower in front of him and turned the water back on.

“Ow!” Peter exclaimed, the first burst of water unbearably hot.

“Baby,” Johnny said, but used his powers to siphon off some of the extra heat and soothe the burn.

“That’s _really_ handy,” Peter said.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

Johnny opened his mouth and closed it again. Was he?

“That wasn’t supposed to be a difficult question,” Peter said, concern creeping into his voice. “Did I hurt you earlier?”

“I—What? No,” Johnny said. “No, of course not.”

“Did you want me to?”

Johnny blinked at him. _Fuck._

_Don’t think about it, Johnny._

But that was, unsurprisingly, extremely difficult to do with Peter standing right in front of him.

Peter moved forward, backing Johnny up against the wall. He planted his hands on the tiles, one by Johnny’s head and the other by his hip, caging him in. “Tell me what you want.”

Johnny wanted world to feel right again, but that would require far more than Parker was capable of. “Anything that _you_ want,” he said instead, because that had worked out so well earlier.

Peter stared at him, considering, and finally turned around, shutting the water off. “No sense getting you cleaned up now when I have every intention of getting you filthy again.”

Johnny shivered.

Once dried, they tumbled right back into bed, and Peter covered him in kisses that were too gentle and too kind and too full of some undefined emotion from someone Johnny never intended to spend another night with again.

 

+

 

In the end, Johnny only ended up leaving because someone came over. His hair was still damp from a proper, second shower when someone buzzed.

Peter groaned, halfway out the bathroom door, naked and glistening. “You’re kidding me. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Uh,” Johnny pointed to the floor by the window, where a patch of sunshine was visible beneath the heavy curtains.

Peter blinked when Johnny pulled the curtains open just to drive the point home. “You’re _kidding_ me.”

The door buzzed again and he trudged to the intercom, sighing. “Who are you?”

“It’s me. Open the door so I can yell at you.”

Peter’s resigned sigh at the sound of the stern feminine voice told Johnny everything he needed to know. He slipped into his clothes and out the window before Peter could turn around and ask him to go.

It felt surreal, how normal the world looked now that he was back in it. He would have much preferred Peter’s bed as the main reality he would have to live in, but that was a privilege reserved for people probably not named Johnny Storm.

 _At least I was right,_ he thought, catching sight of the Baxter Building and his open window. The guy was phenomenal in the sack, it was almost unfair.

Johnny landed in the middle of his bedroom already flamed off and quickly changed his clothes. It was just about breakfast time and while going to sleep and not having to face anyone was extremely tempting, he was also starving.

Reed knew, of course. So, naturally, Sue knew, and they both watched Johnny sit down at the breakfast table with matching knowing expressions.

“Had a good time at the party?” Sue smirked. “Reconnect with old friends?”

Johnny glared at her. “Obviously, you already know the answer to that.”

Reed cleared his throat. “That aside, I was just about to tell Sue that I’m glad we went.”

“You are?” Johnny asked and Sue raised her eyebrows.

“It’s not at all a well-disguised Osborn subsidiary as we thought,” Reed told Sue. “Peter...is not the kind of person who would let someone else call the shots when he’s at the helm.”

Johnny nearly choked on a piece of toast. No. He’d tried ordering Peter around in bed and all _that_ had accomplished was more prolonged teasing.

“He _did_ reach out to me about an idea he had regarding one of my microcomputer designs,” Reed continued, oblivious to Johnny’s problem. “He said he could reduce the cost of production drastically, though I can’t imagine how. Maybe I should set up a meeting.”

“What?” Johnny asked.

“He managed to make an impression on both of you, huh?” Sue said. “What an interesting man.”

“You don’t have to do it on my account,” Johnny told him hastily. “It’s not like we’re dating now or anything.” He’d already decided he would never talk to him again. The guy was far too dangerous.

“Oh, it’s not that at all,” Reed assured him absently, spreading jam on toast for Franklin. “He _is_ rather intelligent—I hired him, if you recall. I wonder what’s held him back all these years.”

“Who’re we talking about?” Ben rumbled, looking completely lost.

“Peter Parker,” Reed said.

Ben squinted. “The photographer guy? The one you _fired_ because he gave Spider-Man your security codes?”

Johnny’s fork dropped to his plate with a clatter but he picked it up at once, pretending not to notice Sue and Reed glaring daggers at a very confused Ben.

Spider-Man. Now that he thought about it, he knew it was the answer to Reed’s question. Somehow, it had been Spider-Man holding Peter back, and with him gone—

Johnny’s mind screeched to a halt. No, no, he was supposed to be trying to move on. He shouldn’t be thinking about Spider-Man at all.

But it was too late. There was no use. Not even thoughts of Peter’s lips and strangely gentle hands could keep him from remembering that one late afternoon, in the muted fire of dusk, atop the Statue of Liberty, when Spider-Man had kissed him for the first time and the last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No porn. Just feelings.

Peter Parker was used to Anna Maria Marconi looking at him disapprovingly for his personal antics but this was the first time she was less than pleased with him professionally. And he got it, he really did. He already knew everything she had to say. He should have worn the red tie, he should have mingled with the investors more, he shouldn’t have abandoned his best friend in the middle of the most important venture of their lives.

And he definitely shouldn’t have had a one-night stand with the Human Torch of all people.

Peter looked down at his picture (and Johnny’s) splashed on the paper’s lurid gossip page. He didn’t even want to read the headline, much less the accompanying article. He just nudged it back at her across the breakfast table.

“You’re lucky,” Anna Maria began, folding the paper and sticking it back in her purse. “You’re not even making out with him in the cab or anything. According to the article, the shots of the two of you on the balcony was too dark to print.”

Peter felt like the world was falling away from him. “Oh.”

Anna Maria pinched the bridge of her nose, looking tired, and Peter felt almost sorry for her, really. When they had started out, it had been Harry’s idea to hire someone with a more scientific background to manage the more technical side of day-to-day operations while Harry focused on administrative issues. Anna Maria had been the best candidate from the handful of people who’d shown interest during the early days of their partnership, before they had become an actual company, but she probably hadn’t expected Peter’s personal life to cause them trouble. “I was able to spin this with the few investors who’ve asked me and I told them you’d been invited to a private dinner with certain members of the Fantastic Four. Fortunately, Reed Richards left not long after you did, and there are records of you having worked with him before. But this can’t happen again.”

“It won’t. I swear,” Peter said. If only because Johnny probably had no interest in it, having referred to it as a one-night stand—not to mention how he had just flown out his window without bothering to say goodbye.

“They’re watching you like hawks, Peter, just waiting for you to fall flat on your face.”

“Our own investors? Really?”

“They’re not your friends. Your ideas are worth more to them than you and the company itself. If you go down, well—they can have all the crazy things that have come out of your head practically for free.” She sighed. “They already think you’re young and naïve. Don’t add impulsive and irresponsible to the list.”

“All that just from a one-night stand with the Human Torch? Wow.”

Anna Maria folded her hands together on top of the table in a great show of patience. “Peter. You’re now the CEO of a startup tech company. You have patents under your name _potentially_ worth millions. You have a growing number of people relying on you for their continued employment and livelihood. You can’t just do as you please anymore.”

“Wanna switch places?”

She gave him a look. “You know I have more stuff to do than you, right? Your main responsibilities are signing things, looking pretty for press releases, and coming up with a stroke of genius once a month. Maybe twice if you’re on a roll.”

“Lady, if ‘looking pretty’ is part of the job description then we definitely made a mistake here. Plus, I need to be a genius on a bi-monthly basis? We’re really—really reaching high there.”

“We talked about this before the launch.” She frowned. “Are you really going to throw all that out the window for one night with Johnny Storm? I mean, I get it. He’s Johnny Storm. Bad decisions follow in his wake. But that was last night. I hope you know to leave it there.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, wisely choosing not to correct her and say that Johnny had been with him right up to the moment she arrived, which was about as “last night” as a “just this morning” could get.  He could still smell Johnny’s cologne on his skin, even after the shower. It was probably just all in his head, but still.

“Oh, God. Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about him right now.”

“Sorry.”

She made a face. “Look, it’s fine. Get him out of your system. Take the day off. Tomorrow morning, be the sickeningly responsible guy I signed up to do business with. That guy’s annoying, but he always does what he has to do. Okay?”

Peter nodded and Anna Maria left. He wandered back to the bedroom and surveyed the state of it. The covers were a mess, the pillows were all over the place, and a lamp had been knocked over. The tie he’d worn the night before had been completely ruined. Even if it hadn’t, he could never wear it again, after what it had been through.

Peter wished he knew what had come over him. He hadn’t seen or thought about Johnny Storm in ages—not since giving up photography after Spider-Man’s vanishing act. But seeing him last night, it had been as if a million feelings he’d locked away had come rushing back. He refused to examine them now, however. It didn’t seem right to look at them in the morning light. Or ever.

So he packed them up and locked them away again. What were the chances of him running into Johnny without seeking him out, anyway? Next to none? They liked completely different things. Their personalities clashed and they had a knack for getting on each other’s nerves. It was a miracle fucking had turned out to be enough of a distraction to keep them from the usual snark and rude barbs, and even then they had just traded hurtful words for bruises and aching limbs they were going to feel for days.

 _He’s Johnny Storm. Bad decisions follow in his wake._ Anna Maria was right. Even just thinking about Johnny’s blue eyes and blond hair was a bad decision. He shouldn’t even think about that wide, cocky mouth, slightly out of place on his delicately pretty, perfectly symmetrical face. And he _definitely_ shouldn’t think about all those things he did last night to that mouth and that face.

_Fuck._

Peter dropped face-down on the bed that still smelled of sex and sweat and Johnny, unable to stop his mind from going there, to the memory of Johnny beneath him, clinging and begging for harder and faster and _more_. Peter had given him everything he’d wanted and then some.

He rolled onto his back, hand slipping inside his sweatpants to palm his hard cock. He threw an arm across his eyes, mouth falling open, as he started working himself up. His body felt hot, but it was still cold compared to when the Human Torch had been here, scorching him with his kisses and his tight heat, grasping and hungry, like someone touch-starved.

Peter jerked himself faster, his shallow rapid breaths and moans he was completely unable to help filling the room. He thought of Johnny, the face he would make when he came, the perfect slope of his slender neck, the fan of his golden hair on the pillows, the stretch of his lips around Peter’s cock, the desperate roll of his hips—

Peter’s back arched off the bed when he groaned out his orgasm, fucking his own fist right through it as white dripped down his fingers.

He wiped them clean on the already hopelessly filthy sheets and swallowed down the hot shame that followed. Johnny Storm had probably already relegated him to a mere notch in his bedpost, and here he was, just another sad loser who was going to have to figure out how to move on from a brief brush with a flame so hot, it seared into his veins.

 

+

 

Harry Osborn showed up an hour after Anna Maria’s visit and after Peter had just taken a third shower and dumped all his sheets in the washing machine, grateful that he no longer had to trek to a laundromat to do his laundry.

“Pete,” Harry grinned when he answered the door.

“Har.”

His best friend slapped the same paper Anna Maria had shown him, opened on the same page, onto his chest and side-stepped his way in.

Peter sighed. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before Aunt May heard about his escapade. If it was a particularly slow news day, it could make it all the way to the other side of the country, to where Mary Jane and Gwen were, and then he was never going to hear the end of it. He tossed the paper onto a nearby end table and shut the door.

Harry was already ensconced on the sofa, legs crossed and arms stretched along the back, looking like he owned it, along with the rest of Peter’s apartment. “So. Hot night?”

“You know you’re not funny, right?” Peter asked, and threw himself into a wing chair. “Am I not allowed to make stupid mistakes in peace?”

“Not when the stupid mistake is someone like the Human Torch. And wow.  You didn’t even try to deny it. It’s not like the picture is particularly incriminating.”

Peter slouched down and stared up at the ceiling. “What’s the point? People will believe whatever they want.”

“That’s right. I came over to see if you needed tips on how to handle your first scandal but it doesn’t look like you need any. I mean, _maybe_ don’t admit things so readily, but you got the right attitude, at least.”

“Can you give me tips on how to never have scandals ever?”

“Move to another galaxy with no sentient life.”

“Tempting.”

“Just tell me what you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Harry burst into laughter at his dry admission. “Okay. You know what we should do? We should celebrate last night’s successful party, which was obviously a hit on several levels. Pizza and booze?”

“I’ll take the pizza. And I think we’ve had enough of me making decisions while under the influence for a while.”

“You had one glass of wine last night. _One,_ ” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll order online.”

Peter closed his eyes, grateful for Harry’s presence. Despite—or perhaps _because_ of the familiar, good-natured ribbing, he felt somewhat normal again. Like Peter Parker again. Just some dumb kid stumbling through his life with his friends.

“Hey. You okay, buddy?” Harry’s voice asked him from somewhere nearby.

Peter opened his eyes to find Harry staring down at him from behind his chair. “Yeah...Yeah, just wondering how I got here.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Boy, you must be the only person who gets _that_ wasted on a single glass of fizz.”

“No, that’s not what I—” He rubbed a hand across his forehead.  “I mean, how did I go from dumb kid from Queens to _this_?”

Harry smiled faintly. “Pete. You were never a dumb kid. You’re the smartest guy I know, and you were born eighty years old.  And...you were always meant to be someone great.”

Peter blinked at him. “Are _you_ drunk?”

Harry rolled his eyes and walked past him, heading for the refrigerator. “That’s the last time I ever say something nice about you.”

Peter watched him for a while, letting him root around in the fridge while muttering about Peter’s dismal lack of beer. “Har.”

He looked up over the open door. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Pete, you got nothing to apologize for.”

“I—I ran out on you. I left you alone just so I could—”

“Get laid?” Harry finished bluntly, taking out two cans of soda. “I didn’t expect you to stay the whole night, Johnny Storm or no. You were practically clawing your way out of your skin even before half of the Fantastic Four showed up. Besides, if a similar opportunity had presented itself to me, I might have bailed on _you_.”

“You would have slept with Johnny Storm?”

“Haha. No, because Liz would actually kill me. And he’s not my type. Didn’t think he was yours, either. But then again, you always had a thing for beautiful people way out of your league.”

“Hey!”

Harry laughed and sat down before Peter on the coffee table. “Here,” he said, holding out one of the cans.

Peter opened it and had it halfway to his mouth before Harry grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Har?”

Harry clinked their sodas together. “Here’s to you jumping off this cliff with me. I’m not going to let you down, Pete. We’re going to make something so great, Norman won’t have anything to say except maybe how proud he is of us.”

Peter blinked. “I know you won’t. And we will. For you, buddy, I can exceed quota and come up with _three_ genius ideas a month.”

Harry looked puzzled. “Quota?”

“Never mind,” Peter said, and took a long swig. “And thanks.”

“What for?”

“For being understanding, even though I almost messed things up.”

“I’m not going to begrudge my best friend his sexual awakening.”

“Oh, screw you, Osborn,” Peter groaned.

“Maybe later,” Harry said.

He was laughing when the pillow Peter threw hit him in the face.

 

+

 

There was someone waiting for Peter in the office when he got to work the next day. He supposed it was his own fault for getting zero warning. Harry had told him to hire a personal assistant, and he had a huge stack of applications on his desk, but he had simply not gotten around to it yet. Their company had barely gotten off the ground, and with only a little more than a hundred people in their employ, there was always something else Peter had to do.

That was how he found himself stopping short in the middle of the doorway to his own office, seeing his chair behind his desk already occupied, and hearing his blood suddenly thundering in his veins.

Norman Osborn peered at him over steepled fingers, looking more comfortable and powerful at his own desk than Peter thought he himself ever could. “Mr. Parker. Do you always come in this early?”

Peter frowned. “How did you get in here?”

Norman waved a hand. “Please, you barely have any security. Couldn’t afford your own building?”

“We’re working on it,” he said cautiously, shutting the door behind him. “How can I help you?”

“I meant to congratulate you and my son for a launch well done the other night. It never hurts to establish good PR, and a successful party is one way to do that.”

Being praised by Norman Osborn for doing something almost made Peter wish they hadn’t done it. Once, perhaps, he might have thought Norman was just being kind, just being polite, but there was always this low level of malicious amusement that seemed to emanate from the man. As if he were enjoying a massive, nasty joke that he alone knew about.  It made Peter’s hackles rise and his heart pound in what felt a little too much like rage. If he had been holding something in his hand, he might have even crushed it, but he had no idea why. He could never explain it to Harry, but seeing his father and speaking to him always did something to Peter.

“But tell me. Was hooking up with the Human Torch part of that plan?”

“I’m sorry, Norman,” Peter said through gritted teeth. “But I have a pile of paperwork to go through. You know who’d love to see you, though? Your son. Maybe you should say hi to him.”

Norman looked amused, even though his eyes never smiled. “Bit of advice, Peter,” he said as he got to his feet and slowly sauntered over. “You don’t want the kind of attention that comes with screwing a cape. It tends to end badly.”

Peter yanked the door open. “I appreciate that, but it’s really not necessary.”

Norman studied his face for several long moments, and Peter felt his hands involuntarily clenching themselves into fists. “I hope so, Mr. Parker.” He reached over and placed a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I really am proud of what you and Harry are trying to accomplish. I’d always hoped you’d come to work for me someday, but I can respect a man with a streak of independence. I do hope nothing comes in the way of what you want to achieve.”

Peter shrugged his hand off. Something in the back of his head, some primal instinct, was screaming at him.

“Tell my son I dropped by,” Norman managed to say, just before Peter swung the door shut in his face.

Peter stared at it. Somehow, he knew Norman was still there, doing exactly the same thing. The thought made his skin crawl. He backed away to his desk and looked at his chair. Was it unreasonable to want to burn it?

The door opened again and he jumped—literally—but it was only Anna Maria.

She froze in the doorway, half-amused and half-puzzled. “Are you okay, Peter? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone jump so high.”

He forced a smile. “I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Thought I’d remind you about the staff meeting in half an hour,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Harry said he’s bringing coffee and donuts.”

“Right,” Peter said as the screaming in his brain subsided to a whisper and a faint, persistent throbbing at the base of his skull. “That’s good.”

Anna Maria gave him a funny look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m great, Anna Maria.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _great_ ,” she said dubiously, eyeing him critically.

Peter laughed, not even needing to fake it anymore, and tried to push Norman's visit out of his mind. He wouldn’t tell Harry about it, he decided. It would be for the best.

 

+

 

For the next few days, Peter threw himself into his work. He’d never been the sort to laze around in the first place, and his friends knew about his tendency to forget about sleep completely, but after the third day, Anna Maria started to show concern, in her own way. By taking away the executive espresso machine.

“Go home and sleep,” Anna Maria ordered, scribbling something on her tablet. “And shower.”

Peter didn’t want to sleep. It was bad enough that he tended to have weird nightmares in the first place, but now there was the added bonus of dreams starring Johnny Storm and last time he’d woken up with a hard-on that wouldn’t quit until he’d jerked off to his stupid memories of that stupid night all over again.

It was ridiculous. He couldn’t understand why he was suddenly pining for the guy. He had gone from not thinking about him at all to being creepily obsessed with him. It wasn’t even just the sex. Somehow, he felt he could have dealt with that. What bothered him were the thoughts that had nothing at all to do with physical intimacy but felt deeply familiar all the same.  Longing for things like hanging out on rooftops and eating hotdogs with Johnny, or chatting about nothing in particular while Johnny tried to teach him about _cars_ , or just quietly watching the sun as it went down.

Peter couldn’t understand where they were coming from and wished they would just go away.

Anna Maria peered at him over her tablet. “Is it still the nightmares?”

“Not really.”

“I thought I told you to see a therapist for that. It’s not like anyone’s going to judge you for it. Given your previous line of work, you’ve seen a ton of crazy things—more than the average New Yorker, and that’s saying a _lot_.”

“I’m not paying to have some quack do the equivalent of a cold reading and overcharge me. At least psychics go the whole nine yards and use props and costumes.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re not quacks, it’s a legitimate—Ugh, I’m not having this conversation with you again. “If you think you’re fine, then it’s not my problem. Until you start running us into the ground, anyway.”

Peter knew she was right. It was just easier to pretend to think that way than to find a therapist and _talk_ to them. “I’m fine, okay? So I have bad dreams. And insomnia. I can meet your minimum of two genius ideas a month with more awake time.”

Anna Maria sighed. “You’re not going to come up with _any_ in your current state. I swear if you don’t walk out of here of your own volition, I am dumping your body off the roof.”

Part of being a genius was in picking his battles, he supposed, so he packed up his laptop and some papers and left before she could fetch someone to help her fulfill her promise.

He couldn’t remember getting into a cab or how he managed to reach his own bed. All that mattered was how soft and inviting it looked when he finally got there. He felt all the fight go out of him and Peter toppled face-down onto it, succumbing to the temptation.

He dreamed of Johnny Storm in the warm orange glow of sunset, and of kissing him until the first star appeared in the night sky.

But then the good dreams never really lasted for very long.

 

+

 

Peter dreamt about spiders a lot. Of course, people would assume it was because he used to photograph Spider-Man and perhaps that played a part. But if that were the case, he thought he should have been having good dreams. His former job had helped put food on the table and had kept him and May from the streets, but now he couldn’t even bear to think about it. All he could see, every time Spider-Man was mentioned, were his nightmares.

He wasn’t sure where the fear had sprung from. He was certain he hadn’t had it before—otherwise he would never have gotten into the business in the first place. But now it was so bad, he’d had to pack away every single Spider-Man related object he possessed. And there were a _lot_ of them since his friends and colleagues had assumed his professional interest to be some sort of obsession and had kept giving him stuff. The only things unaffected were his cameras. Perhaps because there were other memories associated with them. Perhaps because he liked photography too much. Who knew how his brain worked? Definitely not Peter himself.

Anna Maria was right. He probably needed therapy. Lots and lots of it.

He rolled himself out of bed before the sun was even up the next day, wide awake after one such bad dream, and unable to go back to sleep. He cursed himself and whatever it was that always decided he should be up at three in the morning, regardless of how much rest he actually wanted or needed. He sat down at his desk, yawning, and played his voice mails while he studied the schematics for a battery he’d started working on the previous day.

The first message was from Aunt May, delicately asking him about something she had seen online, and Peter just _knew_ she was talking about the rumor about him and Johnny. He filed that away under Conversations He Was Never Going To Have If He Could Help It (which meant he was going to put it off until he started feeling guilty about ignoring his aunt...probably right around breakfast, going by his track record), and moved on to the next.

It was Anna Maria, sounding cautiously excited—a peculiar combination. “Listen, Peter. Before I tell you about the call I got, I need you to try not to freak out.”

Peter snorted. “Telling people not to freak out always results in more freaking out, Anna Maria,” he muttered under his breath.

Anna Maria inhaled audibly. “Reed Richards called.”

Peter’s fingers on his tablet computer stilled.

“Well. More accurately, Reed Richards’ lawyers called. They want to set up a meeting. Look, I don’t know what you said to him, but he said—and this is a direct quote— _‘I want to hear about how he thinks he’s going to provide enough power to the microcomputer without driving the production cost through the roof.’_ His main issue seems to be ensuring the final product is accessible.  And I’ve seen you pull off miracles, but I’ve also seen you talk out of your ass. This better not be the latter, Pete.”

Peter sent the diagram on his tablet spinning with a swipe of his finger. “I don’t _think_ I can provide enough power, Reed. I _know_ it.”

“Anyway, we’re meeting at the Baxter Building two days from now. Do me a favor and sleep the night before. We need to be firing on all cylinders.”

 _Gotta add sleep on command to the list,_ Peter thought dryly, ignoring the rest of his phone calls and going back to work.

He was cleaning up his finished schematic as the sun was rising when it finally hit him.

Meeting at the Baxter Building,

The possibility of running into Johnny Storm.

_I am so goddamned screwed._

 

+

 

By the time the meeting at the Baxter Building rolled around, Peter had gotten a grand total of four hours of sleep over two days. He overcompensated with caffeine and got so hopped up, he would have started climbing the walls of the conference room if Harry, who knew him all too well, hadn’t been stepping on his foot. He didn’t mind it. It was weirdly grounding.

He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to string enough words together during his pitch, emphasizing that they intended to use the circuit designs to produce low-cost tablets aimed for use in schools in low income neighborhoods with eventual plans for higher end products further down the line. His power source design was still also under development and thus mostly under wraps, but he did present some test results of an earlier prototype. Judging by Reed’s approving nod and Sue’s thoughtful stare at the end of it, he hadn’t done too badly.

Even though his brain had spent much of the time reminding him that he was standing in front of two people who knew for certain that he’d slept with Johnny Storm.

Afterwards, Peter collapsed in his chair and let the lawyers, Harry, and Sue take over the conversation, dutifully attempting to pay the most attention to Sue because he’d promised Harry he’d study how _real_ CEOs functioned.

In the end, they all agreed to have more meetings, which Peter supposed was some kind of win, judging by how pleased Harry and his legal team looked.

Peter was just about to follow the others out of the room when Reed called his name.

“Would you be interested in looking over a few things with me?” Reed asked when Peter stayed. “I have several ideas someone with a background in chemistry could help with.”

Peter glanced out the door, where Harry hovered politely, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Of course, I understand your time is valuable, so we can say you’re officially consulting and any output—”

“I’ll be happy to help you, Reed,” Peter interrupted, trying not to grimace. He didn’t want Reed to think he’d been holding out for a fee.

Reed beamed and swept out of the room.

Harry seemed understanding when Peter told him he was staying, but then at the very end had to drop a wink and Peter had to stop himself from pushing his own face into a wall. Fortunately, Reed had been looking the other way, but Peter reminded himself for the nth time that maybe he should really get a new best friend.

The Fantastic Four’s network of labs had changed a lot since the last time Peter had been there, years before, during his short-lived internship. But then he figured it probably didn’t stay the same for very long, with Reed making structural changes to accommodate his experiments every time he started a new one, and with new equipment popping up when necessary. Reed showed him around the place, not bothering to explain half of what he was doing and simply taking as a given that Peter would understand.

And Peter did. He was no Mister Fantastic when it came to breadth and depth of raw knowledge, but he was a quick learner and able to make deductions at a glance. Reed ended the brief tour in the chemical laboratory, where Peter assumed the work he needed help with would be. It felt a little like coming home, with the persistent hum of refrigeration units and fume hoods in the background. It had been a while since Peter had been in a proper, fully-equipped traditional chemistry lab—most of his current projects were in materials and engineering—and he’d missed it.

They paused by a bank of computers and Peter took one look at an open monitor showing an assortment of graphs and frowned. “An organic adhesive? Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

Reed smiled faintly. “Ah. I see I don’t need to explain.”

“And it looks like you’re having problems with the polymerization—but that’s just a matter of figuring out the right catalysts and kinetics,” Peter said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. He’d already planted himself in it before he realized what he’d done. “Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

Reed firmly patted him on the shoulder. “No, no. It’s fine. I asked you to look at it. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Um, do you have a pen and paper? I think better with, you know, old school stuff,” Peter said, after looking around the desk and finding only tablets and print-outs.

Reed produced some from a hidden drawer in the bench and Peter spent the next half hour animatedly drawing chemical structures and synthetic pathways for Reed, who admitted it was a field of science he wasn’t as well-acquainted with as others, even though it was clear to Peter that Reed knew and understood all the theories. He just hadn’t read as many research journals on the specific topic as Peter had and hadn’t spent as much time mucking around in organic synthesis on his own—doubtless because he was busy writing his own journal articles on things like astrophysics and quantum theory.

“You know, I think we got it,” Peter said finally, smiling down at four sheets of scribbles. “I could mix you up a batch right now.”

“I don’t think I have all of the starting material on hand and it may take a while to order—”

“What? Some of these are really common chemicals, and some I can synthesize from scratch or extract from household materials. It won’t take long at all.”

Reed stared at him.

Peter fidgeted. “Is something wrong? I mean...I guess I get over-excited about these things and I’ve been told it’s a problem, but—”

“It’s not a problem. How about you make a list of the necessary chemicals while I set up the equipment?”

Peter nodded and they set about getting everything ready. As it turned out, Reed had most of the materials in his well-stocked inventory, and Peter only had to improvise and make a couple from scratch.

The following hours passed more quickly than Peter would have thought possible, his mind and hands occupied with constantly checking and adjusting temperatures, adding precise volumes of reagents at specific intervals, and other painstaking tasks. He was so absorbed in what he was doing, he didn’t realize that Reed was no longer in the room, where he‘d been monitoring another experiment, but someone else _was._ Not until they cleared their throat.

Peter froze. _Shit._

“You know, I didn’t think I’d meet someone _worse_ than Reed.”

Peter finished decanting his product into a vial, sealed it, and slowly lowered the empty flask. He counted to three in his head before turning around.

Johnny looked good. But then, when had the Human Torch been anything less?

“Johnny,” he said evenly.

Johnny’s eyes swept him from head to toe, and the idea of Johnny Storm checking him out was both so bizarre and flattering, Peter didn’t quite know what to feel. “Parker.”

“Where—Where’s Reed?”

“You realize you two have worked well past dinner time, don’t you? Sue finally caught him and dragged him out of the vents when he went in there to check on a bug in the security system.”

“What?” Peter blinked at him. He hadn’t even noticed Reed leave.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Yeah...You seemed to be really into...whatever you were doing.”

“It’s very crucial that I add reactants at the right time and temperature or else—”

“Not a nerd, Parker,” Johnny interrupted him. “Don’t care. Anyway, I’m here to tell you that you can go up and join Reed for a late dinner if you want.”

Peter hesitated. The polymer was already cooling in a capped vial. So long as it remained capped, it was perfectly stable. No one needed to keep an eye on it any longer. “I think I should leave for now. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Johnny stared at him for a long moment. “I’ll show you out,” he said finally, and turned to lead the way.

“How did you know I was here?” Peter asked, snatching up his jacket and briefcase and trailing after him.

“Reed mentioned it this morning,” Johnny said casually, without looking back. “And the security records showed you still hadn’t been logged out.”

“Oh. Of course.” Peter said, and fell into step. “Thanks, by the way. For coming to get me. I could have gone on all night tweaking the formula.”

“Reed would have remembered you. Eventually,” Johnny said, amused.

_“Eventually.”_

Johnny shrugged. “No one’s reached the point of starvation before being found yet.”

Peter looked at him in horror.

“I’m kidding, Pete.”

“Oh. Right.”

Johnny paused and looked at him curiously. “You okay, Parker? You’re not in top form today, I gotta say.”

Sleep deprivation, mental exhaustion, and close proximity to the object of his fantasies were probably the main reasons.

“Just tired, I guess,” he said instead, offering the condensed and more socially acceptable response. How did one say, “ _I’ve been having extremely detailed weirdly platonic dreams about you. And okay, one or two times we have really hot, really rough sex,”_ without coming across like a creep?

Johnny’s look softened. “Yeah. You seem a bit...stretched thin. Maybe remember to take a break once in a while.”

They finally reached the elevator, which automatically opened.

Peter hesitated, thinking about Johnny laid out beneath him, glowing like a fallen star. When he pushed that thought away, others came to take their place—less sexual but more intimate. Like lying next to him on a rooftop, just talking and talking until the stars came out. He was alarmed by how much he wanted the latter, as if it should already belong to him somehow.

“Pete?”

“Yeah, about that break...I was actually thinking I’d stop for a coffee on the way home—decaf, I _promise_. Do you—would you like to grab one with me?”

Johnny stared at him.

“It’s just a coffee. It doesn’t—It doesn’t mean anything,” Peter said, then immediately wanted to kick himself in the head.

“Okay,” Johnny said, and Peter wondered if he _had_ kicked himself in the head and was presently hallucinating.

“What.”

“Okay,” Johnny shrugged. “I’m bored. You asked. Okay.”

Peter hadn’t expected that at all. He'd thrown out that invitation expecting to be turned down, wondering if flat out rejection was all he needed to cure himself of his inexplicable yearning.

Johnny walked into the elevator. “Peter. You coming or not?”

He shook himself, realizing he’d been spacing out again. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he said, and jumped in.

Johnny gave him a funny look. “You’re really weird, you know that?”

Peter grinned at him. “I get that a lot.”

Johnny pressed a button. “You know that’s not a compliment, right?”

Peter looked at him. Johnny’s tone sounded mildly annoyed, but there was a smile playing upon his lips.

Maybe it _wasn’t_ a compliment, but with the way it made Peter’s heart clench painfully in his chest, it may as well have been.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s just p o r n.
> 
> I’m posting slightly early as I will be traveling for a while and might not have time later. Shoutout to tumblr user paperpeter for drawing [adorable art](https://paperpeter.tumblr.com/post/183467315012/omg-my-lovely-pairing-now-is-spideytorch-and-i) inspired by this fic. Thank you so much! I hope the rest of you guys check it out!

There was an espresso bar within walking distance, and it wasn’t even a Starbucks. It was quiet and dimly lit, its clientele mostly businessmen, and it was easy enough to find a table in some out of the way corner, just to be on the safe side and keep Johnny from being easily spotted. More than fans, he was too accustomed to drawing the attention of random villains even during his private time.

Peter idly played with the spoon in his coffee, stirring it even though he’d put absolutely nothing in it and it was black as night. “How have you been, Johnny?”

Johnny looked at him and the sheer strangeness of the question, after all that had already happened, made him laugh.

Peter looked bewildered for a moment but soon chuckled sheepishly, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. The gesture was achingly familiar.

Johnny snorted into his over-decorated strawberry frappe. “I’m fine, Pete,” he finally answered, and it didn’t even feel too much like a lie. “What about you?”

“Well, I can’t complain.”

“Yeah, having money kinda has that effect.”

Peter laughed, his serious face coming alight. “Okay, you got me. I’m fine because—money.”

“You’re admitting that I’m right? That’s a first.”

“Oh, wow. Are we doing that again?” he asked, but he was smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Johnny’s heart sank with the realization that he wanted him again. Suddenly, intensely wanted him.

He should have known this would happen. _Why did I come here?_ Johnny berated himself. _Why did I come to get him in the first place? What happened to never talking to him again?_

Johnny picked up his drink and took a noisy sip through his straw, desperately trying to drive the feeling away. “How’s—How’s your aunt?” he asked, reaching for the first topic he could think of.

“Married again, actually. Living in Boston.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Wow. You go, Peter’s aunt. Must be hard to be so far away, though. You always seemed so close.”

“I miss her a lot but marriage has put her in a matchmaking mood so it’s also a bit of a relief that she’s too far away to scout for girls for her sad, lonely nephew.”

“Well, now I can’t call you that because I’d just come off as cruel. Thanks, Parker.”

“It’s okay because it’s true.”

“Are you really that sad, Pete? All that money and success, and with things still looking up?”

“Okay, you keep saying that, but the truth is...There’s not that much money _yet_ . We’ve barely gotten the company off the ground. Harry and I are plenty in debt. But...yeah, there’s a lot of...I guess _potential_ for money? And it’s keeping us afloat. But that aside, I don’t know.” Peter shrugged. “Just seems like something’s missing.”

Johnny looked down at his empty plastic cup. “Yeah...Yeah, I kinda know something about that.”

“Do you? What does Johnny Storm still not have?” Peter asked incredulously.

Johnny could think of a hundred things. A lasting relationship that didn’t end in disaster. People seeing him for more than just the Human Torch.

His best friend back.

“You’d be surprised.”

Peter drained his cup. “I think I can guess.”

Johnny knew he shouldn’t. That what he really wanted was someone he was apparently never going to have again. Peter Parker wasn’t Spider-Man, and neither were any of the other people Johnny had taken to his bed in the year since he’d disappeared.  But didn’t that make it alright, then — to try to fill that void with something that didn’t quite fit but was close enough? And in the dark, Peter had all the right edges.

Peter glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. We should—”

Johnny grabbed his wrist without thinking, stopping the hand that was reaching to pick up his jacket, draped over the empty seat beside him.

“Johnny?”

“Let’s take a cab to your place. Okay?”

Peter stared at him and Johnny’s courage wavered. He almost took it back.

“Okay,” Peter said at last, his voice oddly gentle. “Okay. Let’s go back to my place.”

 

+

 

If Johnny had been overeager last time, on a single-minded mission to get off, it was Peter who seemed more intent on it tonight. It didn’t mean that he was above teasing or drawing things out, Johnny realized, only that he was far, far more methodical about it, leaving Johnny little to no room for measured thoughts — or really any thoughts at all.

Johnny couldn’t even remember taking off his clothes or getting into bed, reduced to moaning helplessly as Peter carried out a well-devised plan to slowly drive him mad. Peter kissed him all over, mapping skin with his mouth and hands, tracing patterns only he could see, pushing deep into Johnny’s heat—first with his tongue, and then with his fingers, until Johnny felt like he was about to burst into flames.

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look to me right now?” Peter whispered, two fingers to the hilt inside him, finding that one spot that made Johnny’s mind stutter with every moment of contact. “How much I want you?”

Johnny took a deep shuddery breath, abs flexing as Peter brushed against his prostate again.  Peter’s other hand pressed down on Johnny’s stomach, holding him down and keeping him still.

“Johnny.”

Johnny bit his lip, remembering that he’d been asked a question. “Everyone wants me.”

“That’s true,” Peter said, teeth on his throat. “But not everyone can have you.”

“No,” Johnny agreed, moving his hips, straining for that perfect angle.

“Not like this.” He brushed his lips over Johnny’s own, a ghost of a touch that had Johnny chasing his mouth. “This is just for me.”

“Yes,” Johnny babbled, back arching off the bed. “Yes, Just you. God. Please, Pete. Peter—”

“Please what, Johnny?”

Johnny whimpered, rocking against him with every thrust. “Fuck me.”

“I already am, pretty boy.”

“Not—Not like this. Please? I want you inside me. Please, Peter—”

“You’re so sweet when you beg,” Peter murmured into the crook of his neck. His cock pushed in then, stretching him until Johnny moaned with the feeling. Peter moved inside him, slow and steady, arms straining with the effort of holding himself up. His dark eyes were intense, focused, like they had been when faced with a problem in Reed’s lab.  Something behind them smoldered, banked embers waiting to be stoked—a fire that Johnny wanted. He was the Human Torch, after all.

“It’s okay, Pete,” Johnny said, not knowing why he felt the words needed to be said, his fingers skating down Peter’s back.  “Let me have it. Let me have all of it.”

A deep, animal groan issued from Peter’s throat and he pulled out, flipping Johnny around and hauling him up on his hands and knees. He thrust back in with no warning, harder than before, bearing deep into Johnny.

Johnny gasped in surprise, air catching in his throat. “Yes,” he heard himself breathe. “Yes.”

Peter seemed to take his enthusiastic response as encouragement and picked up the pace, slamming into him hard enough that Johnny’s arms shook with the effort to keep from falling over onto his face. Peter’s left hand gripped Johnny’s hip painfully, while the other reached around him to grasp his cock and began to stroke, moving in time with his thrusts in a way that had Johnny nearly crying at the sensations. It was too much, too fast, and Johnny came too soon, his orgasm wrung out of him with a wail.

Peter kept going, both hands now on Johnny’s waist, moving him to meet each thrust.  It didn’t take him long to follow suit, filling Johnny with heat, buried all the way inside him.

Johnny collapsed beneath him, panting into the pillows. “God.”

A hand slowly stroked down the middle of his back, pinching his ass when it got there. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I just hate you. I hate everything about you.” He pushed himself up and rolled onto his back with a groan.

Peter stared down at him, hands braced by his shoulders. His face was flushed and sweaty, his hair in total disarray, but Johnny had never found him more attractive.

He bit his lip. “Hey. You still got that camera?”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You want a selfie or something?”

“Please, if I want a selfie, I’ll use my phone. Come on. Dig it out.”

Peter rolled out of bed, grumbling, and crossed the room to his dresser.

Johnny stared up at the ceiling as he listened to Peter rummage in a drawer. A couple of minutes later, he felt the mattress dip, and Peter’s face, half-hidden behind his camera, popped up in his field of vision.

“I hope you like digital, because I am out of film,” he said, and snapped a photo without warning.

Johnny clicked his tongue. “Hey, no fair not letting me get ready.”

Peter glanced down at the screen, “It’s fine. You’re gorgeous.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and snatched the camera out of his hands to see for himself. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by what he saw. His eyes looked enormous, his hair all tangled and messy, and the pale skin at his throat was littered with deep red marks.  His lips had been bitten and kissed until they were swollen, and his cheeks were a deep pink. He looked...pleased. Almost smug.

Peter started to reach for the camera but Johnny quickly turned it around and fired off a shot before Peter could stop him.

Peter made a face. “I probably look like crap.”

“Send it to me.”

“What?”

“That photo I took, I want it.”

Peter looked at him as if he were crazy. “Fine,” he said, and tugged the camera back. “Come on. You got me to put this thing together, better make it worth my while.”

“What, like this?” Johnny asked, leveling him his most flirty stare down one shoulder.

“Perfect,” Peter breathed and Johnny laughed, moving into another pose. And another, and another. “It’s really unfair how you don’t have any bad angles. Believe me, I tried to find one that time you got me to follow you around.”

“I think that’s more you than me.”

Peter frowned, looking at him over the flash. “What do you mean?”

“It means you’re good.” Johnny smirked at him. “It also means I really wanted you to think I was pretty.”

“Not back then, you didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I did.”

Peter blinked at him. “But why?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “You were cute. And a photographer which was kind of...extra hot.”

“You had a thing for photographers?”

“Just the adorable, awkward ones with attitude problems.”

“I had an attitude problem?” he squawked, indignant.

“Have,” Johnny corrected him absently.

“You know what, I _am_ going to find your bad side. And if you don’t have one, there’s always Photoshop.”

“Wow, whatever happened to ethics in journalism?”

“I just fucked you. If I were still a journalist and you were my subject, I’d say we’ve pretty much dumped ethics in a ditch at this point.”

“Not something I’d want to hear from a scientist either,” Johnny said, frowning sternly at him.

Peter set his camera down carefully on the night stand. “Johnny.”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Shut up.”

Johnny grinned and let Peter kiss him, laughter melting between their lips. “Come on, Pete,” he said, breathless as they went on and on. “I’m ready.”

“In a minute,” he said, and nosed down Johnny’s neck, leaving more kisses, light and fleeting. They tickled and were oddly tender and, once again, Johnny wasn’t sure if he liked it. It wasn’t rough and mindless and purely lust. It messed with his head, Peter’s tenderness. It made the thing between them feel almost more than it was, and Johnny didn’t need that.

Johnny pushed him back, making it seem as playful as he could. “That tickles,” he said, truthful at least, and twisted to one side. He caught Peter’s frown and quickly added, “Hey. I want to blow you. But let’s take a shower first, okay?”

If Peter found it strange that Johnny drew the line over such small, meaningless gestures only to casually talk about blow jobs in the next breath, he didn’t say. He followed Johnny to the bathroom on silent feet, eager and willing.

In the shower, Johnny drew him in and kissed him, slow and sweet, breaking his own rules, stepping over his own lines. But then Peter was shoving him to his knees and giving as good as he got, and everything was right back where Johnny wanted them to be.

 

+

 

There was a copy of _Webs!_ under Peter’s coffee table—Johnny found it without really meaning to. He’d left Peter asleep in bed to get a drink of water and had just decided to watch TV to help bring himself down from the high. Peter apparently didn’t care for cable or any extra service, so all Johnny had to watch at that hour was the late night news roundup. The anchor had just started talking about Oscorp’s latest acquisition of a small biomedical research company, and Johnny was shifting on the couch, trying to make himself more comfortable, when the remote control rolled off the cushions and onto the floor. Johnny, bending down to retrieve the remote, saw it then.

The book was sandwiched near the bottom of a stack, its spine turned inwards. But a corner of the front cover peeked out, and Johnny had flipped through the book enough — both by himself and with Franklin — that he could recognize any random inch of it on sight.

He bit his lip and drew it out slowly, giving himself plenty of time to change his mind and leave it alone. But he was an idiot, so he didn’t.

The first shot alone, when he opened the book, was enough to make his heart hurt. Spidey was caught in mid-flip, back a graceful arc, over a rooftop in Manhattan, and Johnny thought about how the skyline seemed incomplete without him now. He went through the glossy pages slowly, fingers lightly stroking the paper, and thought about the (incredibly compromising) pictures of himself and Peter now residing in Peter’s memory card. Peter was certainly talented, there was no denying that, and with a subject so endlessly fascinating as Spider-Man, he could do no wrong.

“Hey.”

Johnny looked up, his vision weirdly blurry around the edges, and saw Peter standing by the couch, watching him. “Pete.”

His eyes darted towards the book in his lap. “What are you doing with that?”

“N-Nothing. I was just...I was just looking at the pictures.”

Peter slid one finger under Johnny’s chin and tilted his head back. “You’re crying.”

Johnny pulled his head away, angrily swiping at the corners of his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Peter sighed and sat down next to him. He pried the book loose from Johnny’s vise-like grip and dropped it on the coffee table as if it burned. “Tell me the truth.”

Johnny wondered if he should. Maybe Peter, of all people, would understand. If there was anyone whose life had been directly affected by Spider-Man’s disappearance, it was him.

“Johnny—”

“Did he say goodbye?” he blurted out. “He said nothing to me but you—You’re his friend, right? Did he tell you where he was going?”

Peter looked confused for a moment but then looked at his book before turning back to Johnny. He shook his head slowly. “No.”

Johnny reached out and touched his arm. “Peter. Peter, please, if you know anything. _Anything_ at all—”

He flinched away, shrugging his hand off. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, Johnny. He was just…there one day, and the next day he wasn’t.”

Johnny’s eyes roamed his face, hoping for signs of a lie, because Spider-Man had to be out there. He couldn’t just be...gone. “Did...Did you try looking for him?”

Peter blinked. For a moment, he looked about to say something but then simply shook his head. “Did _you_?” He added after a second.

“Not hard enough,” Johnny said bitterly. “Not until it was too late.” All he’d done before was write in the sky and hope for the best. And then later, when it became clear he’d disappeared, he realized he had no idea where to look, and none of Spider-Man’s intermittent costumed allies had any more clues than Johnny.

“Were you in love with him?” Peter asked bluntly.

“He’s my best friend.”

“Yeah? Were you in love with him?”

Johnny looked at him helplessly. The kiss on top of the Statue of Liberty, what he’d been feeling that time, so much just left up in the air— Johnny had been in love the way Peter meant, but there was so much more to it than that. All Johnny knew for sure was that he wanted Spider-Man back.

He would trade in his flame powers for him, if he could.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Johnny looked at him abruptly. “What?”

Peter made a vague gesture between the two of them. “I understood the whole ‘It’s just for fun’ thing. I got that. But...you’re not looking for fun. You’re too hung up on a guy you can’t have. And this isn’t going to make anything better.”

Johnny laughed bitterly. “You’re right.”

Peter frowned as Johnny stood up. “I’m right?”

”Sleeping with you was a horrible idea. I never meant to do it again, anyway,” he continued callously, pointedly avoiding looking at his face. “I mean, don’t misunderstand. You just happened to be there.”

Peter said nothing as he rushed back to the bedroom. Johnny shed his borrowed sweatpants, yanked his own clothes back on, and jumped out the window, just like the last time.

 

+

 

It should have been easy.

He didn’t care about Peter after all, he reminded himself. For all intents and purposes, he’d been a random hook-up. Okay, maybe Johnny had made a mistake in picking a guy he would likely see over and over again — but he hadn’t known that at the time. They were two very different people with vastly different interests. They should never have seen each other again.

But Johnny hadn’t counted on Reed Richards being interested in him as well—that had been mistake number one.

Mistake number two was not realizing that Peter Parker would soon be a curiosity. He was young, self-made, on his way to being truly wealthy, and not at all unattractive. Especially if you managed to get him in the right clothes. This meant he was suddenly being invited to nearly all the boring parties and functions Reed felt the team was obliged to attend and even to a number of non-boring events Johnny went to by himself. The latter apparently often under duress given how Peter usually looked like he’d rather be somewhere else.

Still, it _should_ have been easy to not have sex with him again.

Because even if Johnny kept seeing him at all those events, Johnny _should_ have hated him and how effortlessly he had seen right through him, and _should_ have been avoiding him at all costs.

_“You’re too hung up on a guy you can’t have.”_

Johnny snorted into a wine glass, glaring at Parker’s back from across the room at a fundraiser. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“What was that, Johnny?” Sue asked, leaning closer.

“Nothing,” he said hastily.

He was right. Johnny knew he was right. But other people being right had never stopped Johnny from doing something stupid. He’d even stumbled onto the lawyer guy again. Johnny had gone home with him, and he’d definitely not been thinking about how mad he was at Peter while making out with him for half an hour. Sure, Johnny had lost all interest in the guy after thirty minutes of necking and walked out, but that had had nothing to do with Peter, either.

_“You just happened to be there.”_

“I hate myself.”

Reed looked down at him, pausing in mid-applause at some scientific awards ceremony where Peter had just slunk in through a door near the back, half an hour late. “Did you say something?”

Johnny threw his hands up and resolutely turned his chair to face the other way, where he wouldn’t have to look at Parker’s stupid face.

The next time Johnny saw him was at an exhibit opening at the museum, and Johnny found himself nearing his limit. After the nth time Peter’s gaze slid past him as if he were more invisible than his sister, Johnny wanted to break things.

“What’s your problem, Torchie?” Ben asked, joining him in the corner he’d chosen. “It’s a party and you’re sulking. Are you a Skrull or something?”

Johnny gave him a dirty look and stalked away, not even in the mood for casual insults. It didn’t take him long to locate Peter again. The dumbass had been cornered by a pair of socialites, both of whom were flirting with him and he was too oblivious to notice, carrying on about some cryotech project he’d just started.

 _Fuck this,_ Johnny thought, and sidled over.

Peter gave a start when Johnny linked an arm through his but surprisingly didn’t pull away.

Johnny beamed at the pair now staring at him in awe and surprise. “I’m so very sorry, ladies, but I need to borrow him for a few minutes. Fantastic Four business, I’m sure you understand,” he said, and yanked Peter away.

“Storm—What the hell are you doing?” Peter asked, following him out of the main hall and down a corridor. “What Fantastic Four business?”

Johnny rolled his eyes and pulled him into the men’s room. Thankfully, it was empty.

“Let me guess, I just happened to be here this time, too.”

Johnny winced at the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “You know I just said that because I was pissed.”

“I don’t know if you mean anything you say, Johnny. And it doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I _know_ ,” Johnny said, tugging him in the direction of the last stall. “I know you think this is a bad idea. I know you think it’s not good for me. But I _want this_. This isn’t about anything but me being fucking horny and you being so damn hot in that suit.”

Peter looked at him incredulously, but Johnny had already sat down on the closed toilet lid and was gazing up at him expectantly.

“Peter, please,” Johnny whispered, biting his lip and lowering his eyelashes, using every trick in the book to get what he wanted.

And they worked, because then Peter was touching his face, his long fingers tracing Johnny’s cheek. Johnny suppressed a shiver, feeling something oddly like déjà vu though it quickly passed.

“I’m pretty sure I’m drunk and hallucinating right now,” Peter said conversationally.

“You’re not drunk. You had, like, half a glass of red.”

“Were you watching me?”

“ _You_ were watching me,” Johnny hazarded.

Peter snorted. “I thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re pretty bad at it,” Johnny said through a rush of triumph. He hadn’t noticed, but Peter didn’t have to know that.

Peter stared down at him. “Just this once.”

Johnny tried not to grin, his stomach lurching in excitement. “Just this once,” he said, and pulled Peter in the rest of the way.

“You’re shameless,” Peter said, locking the door behind his back while Johnny fumbled with his pants.

“Look who’s talking,” Johnny retorted.

“In five minutes? Not you,” Peter smirked, unfastening his fly.

It wasn’t ideal. The museum had a fairly fancy toilet, but it was still a toilet. The space was cramped, and someone walking in at any moment and realizing what was happening inside their one locked stall with all the suspicious noises was a very real possibility. But all it did was add to the thrill, something that they apparently both felt, given how easy it was to get them both hard, Peter’s cock in his mouth and Johnny’s own in his hand.

Johnny didn’t even bother to be quiet, filling the walls with his wanton moaning as the other man steadily fucked his face, knowing exactly how the vibrations affected Peter when the latter growled, grabbed a handful of blond hair, and _pulled_. It only made Johnny groan through the dick buried in his throat, making Peter jerk uncontrollably, thrusting even deeper, seemingly heedless of Johnny’s need to breathe.

His throat spasmed. Peter withdrew just enough to let him draw breath before pushing back in and it took all Johnny had to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. He knew he was a mess by now, with Peter’s precome spilling freely into his mouth and Johnny slobbering all over him, but the thought only spurred him on.

“You’re filthy,” Peter said, and Johnny couldn’t tell if that was awe or disgust in his voice. Maybe it was both. It didn’t really matter what Peter thought, only how his body was responding. And it was responding just as he wanted. Peter dribbling down his throat, the red blush on his neck, the slack expression of rapture on his face—those were all Johnny’s doing. Johnny liked it—the idea of being good for something, for once in a way that had nothing to do with setting himself on fire.

“Fuck,” Peter muttered as Johnny slowly pulled off him, his dick popping out wet and dripping onto the tiles. “Johnny, I’m close.”

Johnny stared up at him, stroking his own leaking cock faster, and took Peter in his other hand. “Hurry up and come, then.”

Peter looked around. “The mess— Your mouth—”

“Come on my face, I don’t care.”

“Fuck,” he swore again, and suddenly did just that, his face contorted in an expression of pure bliss as he painted Johnny’s face white.

Peter looked down at him afterward, panting like a man who had just run a race, his expression like he was just seeing Johnny for the first time.“God.”

“You can call me Johnny,” he quipped back, remembering the same joke Peter had made that first night.

Peter laughed softly, reaching down and cupping his jaw. “Look at you,” he murmured. “I want to take your picture like this. Want to see this look on your face every fucking day.”

Johnny blinked at him, hazy with desire. Now that Peter had gotten off, Johnny was desperate to come and couldn’t stop thinking about what Peter would do. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wonder long.

“Your turn,” Peter said, pulling Johnny to his feet and spinning him around, Johnny’s back pressed against his chest.  He wrapped one arm around him, keeping Johnny close within his hold, with Johnny’s arms pinned to his sides.

Johnny couldn’t help but gasp at how quickly he’d been moved and how efficiently he was now trapped. It was easy to forget how strong Peter was when all his sculpted muscles were concealed under clothing. It was hot.

Peter noticed the effect on him, the smug smirk back on his face, and he moved his mouth closer to Johnny’s ear. “If we were in my apartment, I’d tie you up again,” he whispered, his free hand sliding around Johnny’s waist and down his stomach. “You’d like that, right?”

Johnny made a small, incoherent sound. It was the only response he could manage, especially with Peter’s hand finally finding what it was looking for, curling around Johnny’s slick shaft.

“You’d be so lovely, all stretched out on my bed,” Peter continued, beginning to stroke slowly but firmly. “I’d make you wait and wait and wait for hours while I had my fun. Just keep you hanging for half the night, begging me to fuck you. You’d beg, wouldn’t you?”

Johnny’s head lolled, falling backward against Peter’s shoulder. The air in the stall was thick with the musk of sex and arousal and every word out of Peter’s mouth only made Johnny’s breath stick harder in his throat.

“You’d be so beautiful, begging for it. You always are,” he kept murmuring, the rhythm of his hand on Johnny’s cock matching the cadence of his voice. “You’re fucking gorgeous. All the time. Even here, like this, in a goddamn bathroom stall, you’re utterly exquisite.”

Johnny pressed his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, his lips on Peter’s skin, tasting the salt of his sweat. He felt light-headed, his knees weak, his entire weight now completely supported by Peter’s body. Peter’s hand began moving at an alternating pace: fast to slow and back to fast again, fingers deft and skillful, squeezing as they moved up and down. The sound of skin brushing skin echoed in the small space.

“And you’d try _so_ hard to be _so_ good,” Peter continued, his breath hot in Johnny’s ear.  “You’d do whatever I want, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Johnny stammered. “Any— _Anything_.”

“Anything I say?”

Johnny whined. “I’d be good for you. I’d be s-so good.”

“Really? Does this right now count as you being good?” Peter asked, his tone changing from teasing to stern. “Fucking in a public place—there are a hundred men out there. Any one of them could walk in right now. What do you think they’d say if they heard you panting like this?”

Johnny bit his lip, trying to slow down his increasingly irregular breathing. “I’d be quiet,” he whispered. Peter scoffed. “I would, I would!” he exclaimed and then winced, realizing how loud that was.

Peter chuckled. “And that’s not even the worst of your bad behavior. Telling me to come all over your face. What was that about?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Johnny sobbed as Peter’s hand moved faster still, flicking his wrist on every upstroke, adding to the maddening friction. “I thought—I thought you’d l-l-like it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t,” Peter told him. His arm around Johnny fell away and Johnny would have fallen to the floor, boneless, if Peter hadn’t shoved him against the stall divider.  Johnny cried out at the manhandling, his face pushed into the black lacquered wood, Peter’s hand now gripping his hair even as the other continued to work him.

“Fuck me,” Johnny pleaded, unable to control his own damned mouth.  “Please. Please, I’ll be even better—”

“This is all you’ll get,” Peter told him almost scornfully, squeezing the sensitive head of Johnny’s cock and tugging on his hair at the same time.  “Even though you’d look so good on me. Stretched and tight. You know, right? You know _exactly_ how pretty you are.”

Johnny whimpered, hips jutting frantically into Peter’s fist, hungry for release.

“You’d be beautiful. But you’d be even more beautiful when you come,” Peter whispered, right in his ear.

Johnny came, as if on cue, spilling over, dripping white down Peter’s hand and onto his own pants. He groaned into the wall, tremors rocking his body.

A hand on his shoulder turned him, unexpectedly gentle. “Johnny?”

Peter’s face swam in his field of vision and Johnny struggled to put him back in focus. “What the fuck.”

Peter’s brows snapped together, worried.

“It’s unfair,” Johnny complained.  “You can’t be good at _everything_.”

Peter paused, then laughed, then kissed him—slow and deep—and Johnny closed his eyes. It was good. Peter was so good, he could almost believe that Peter actually wanted him. Not just the sex, but _him_ : Johnny Storm.

But that was stupid, and he broke away, just like he always did, with a pleasant but distant smile.

“Thanks, Parker,” he said, opening the door and shoving him out. “I’ll give you a five-minute lead,” he added, and closed the door on his startled face.

For a moment there was silence, when Peter didn’t move, then footsteps and the water running in the sink, followed by the gentle click of the door.

Johnny slumped against the side of the stall and debated his choices. He didn’t have many. All of them involved flaming on, because he was otherwise an utter, unsalvageable mess. Peter had completely wrecked him. Telling him to come all over his face had been hot in the moment, but Johnny may as well wear a giant sign screaming he’d just given some lucky guy a blow job in the men’s room, with how much jizz he’d gotten everywhere. The only choice Johnny had to make was leaving by the door or by the window. The door led back to the museum, where Peter was. The other led to—well—where Peter _wasn’t_.

Johnny stepped up on top of the toilet and pulled the latch on the windowsill. It really wasn’t a choice at all.

 

+

 

The obvious solution was to avoid parties and events altogether — at least for a few weeks. Certainly, that was enough time for him to get over his weird attraction to Peter Parker. Johnny still wasn’t sure he liked the guy outside of fucking him, anyway. He remained the single most frustrating human being on the planet, as far as Johnny was concerned. Because Peter Parker was fucking perfect. He was better than Johnny at absolutely everything. He was _good_ at everything. Even sex. And Johnny had had enough of a complex about him before they even started doing the latter with each other.

But after only a week of reaching that decision and resolving to stick to it, Peter showed up at his house again, and that was just not right. Johnny had come up after a morning of working out, looking forward to lunch, and there was Peter, sitting at the kitchen table with Reed as if he belonged there.

Peter’s gaze flitted over to him briefly, but quickly returned to the papers spread out before them.

Johnny always hated being ignored. Especially by people he had decided he wasn’t ever going to see again but who apparently didn’t get the memo. He stomped over to them, determined to be as distracting as possible, and scowled. “Gross. I can’t believe you’re doing _that_ here. People eat here, you know.”

Reed hummed absently. “Sorry about sciencing at the dining table, Johnny. The spaghetti’s over there.”

Johnny followed Reed’s extended index finger and found that the food had been relocated to the end of the counter. Johnny gave them one more disapproving look (which they both missed), and went to the counter to eat.

He had no idea what the hell the two of them were up to now, but whatever it was had Peter very methodically ruining his hair. Johnny watched, fascinated, as Peter ran his hands through it over and over again. The more he and Reed got absorbed in their schematics and calculations, the more aggressively his fingers raked through it until it was a far cry from the carefully combed and set look he had started with and now more carefully resembled a bird’s nest.

Johnny wasn’t sure why that made him more attractive but it did.

The small intercom panel on the kitchen wall suddenly crackled to life and Sue’s face and voice came on. “Reed. Dear. Did you perhaps have an experiment you were supposed to look in on?”

Reed blinked. “What? Oh. Oh, is it that time already?” he wondered aloud, scrambling out of his chair.

“Maybe you should come down to the lab,” Sue continued, looking strained. Something in the background crashed.  “Something really requires your attention.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I fear I may have, uh, messed something up. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he added over his shoulder, the rest of him already out the door.

Peter sat at the kitchen table looking bewildered. “Uh—”

“Happens all the time, buddy,” Johnny said. “Reed Richards isn’t flawless, much as we probably all want him to be. He’s nearly blown his lab up more times than you can imagine.”

“That’s it. I’m changing my childhood hero to Hank Pym,” he said dryly. He ran a hand through his hair again. “We were so close to a breakthrough, too. You know how you’re knee-deep in a really, really long equation and you get interrupted and it stops making sense so you have to revisit the beginning?”

“I can honestly say I _don’t_ know.”

Peter sighed and bent his head to go back to work, and all of a sudden Johnny couldn’t take it anymore.

“Pete. You may, uh, want to look into a mirror.”

Peter frowned at him. “Do I have ink on my face or something?”

“N—Okay, yes, actually, but there’s a bigger issue here.”

Peter patted his head all over, eventually reached his hair, and froze. “How bad is it?”

Johnny bit back his laughter. “You ever see a bird’s nest?”

“Oh, God,” Peter said, desperately trying to flatten it down but only succeeding in making it worse, until Johnny couldn’t hold it back any longer, sliding out of his seat in uncontrollable laughter.

“You’re not helping,” Peter said accusingly.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Johnny said. He snorted, got himself under control, and walked over. “Here. Let me—”

Peter sat still, patiently enduring Johnny’s hands gently trying to put the locks in some semblance of order. After a couple of minutes, Johnny stepped back, hands on Peter’s shoulders. “Let me see.”

Peter lifted his head and Johnny realized he’d just made mistake number three.

Peter’s gaze burned.

Johnny swallowed. “I think I have hair gel in my room.”

“Of course, you do,” Peter said dryly.

“Do you want to have sex or not?” Johnny asked him bluntly.

Peter crossed his arms. “You know what I think about that, Johnny.”

“This isn’t about what you _think_ , Peter.”

He hesitated.

Johnny moved closer to stand between Peter’s knees, one hand idly fiddling with Peter’s shirt buttons. This was what he wanted, and he was going to take it. Surely, he couldn’t be faulted for that.  Not when the universe kept taking things _away_.  “Look, you don’t have to think too hard about this. I want you. You want me. What’s the problem?”

Peter’s arms dropped and Johnny ran a finger down the line of his shirt.  His jaw clenched and Johnny grew more bold, slipping his hand between two buttons, nudging them loose so he could lay his palm flat on Peter’s abs.

“You think you know what’s good for me, but you don’t. We’ve had sex three times, and that’s it.  You don’t get to decide what I need when _I_ know what Ido.”

“Do you?”

“I need  _this_ , Peter,” Johnny told him succinctly.  “And you do, too.”

“I do?”

“You need to lighten _up_ ,” Johnny said, slowly moving his hand downward.  “I can help you with that. And you can help _me_.  Because if it’s not you, then it’ll be someone else.  But I really would rather it be you.”

“Why? Why me?”

Johnny looked at his serious face, the hint of humor in his eyes.  Because he was attractive. He was hot and handsome and amazing in bed. His jokes were terrible but at least he had a sense of humor and his sharp tongue was, surprisingly, a bit of a turn-on. He was almost everything Johnny wanted.  But, most importantly, Johnny couldn’t imagine falling in love with him. Peter could never hurt him that way. “You’re good at sex,” he shrugged, swallowing down whatever else he almost said and telling him at least part of the truth. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Peter snorted, though his expression had softened.

Johnny took his hand. One gentle tug and he was on his feet. “Let’s go to my room, okay?”

“Okay,” he relented. “Okay, Johnny. Anything you want.”

 

+

 

“So much for ‘Just this once.’ I knew that was complete bullshit the moment you said it back at the museum,” Johnny said just under an hour later, breaking the silence that had gone on for the last five minutes as the two of them struggled to recover. Peter’s terrible habit of giving Johnny mind-blowing orgasms didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon, and Johnny was perfectly fine with that.

Peter snorted and began to laugh, rolling off Johnny to lie on his back. “I seem to remember you calling me a one-night stand the first time we slept together. And really, whose fault is this?”

“Yours,” Johnny said at once.

“Why is it mine?”

“You don’t see _me_ walking into your house to seduce you.”

“I came here to _work_.”

“Oh, yeah,” Johnny said sarcastically. “Look at all you’re getting _done_.”

Peter’s eyes raked him from head to toe. “I’m looking.”

Johnny groaned and shoved a pillow in his face.

Peter chuckled. He started to get up and Johnny hastily grabbed his arm.

Peter looked down at him questioningly.

“Don’t go.”

“What a turn-around, I thought for sure you’d be shoving me out the door again,” Peter said sarcastically.

Johnny flushed, remembering the incident at the exhibit opening. “Pete. I’m sorry about that, okay? I was dumb. You can be mad or make snide remarks at my expense, but just...don’t go yet.”

Peter sighed. “I wasn’t. I’m not. I was just going to get a towel or something.”

Johnny pushed him back down. “I’ll get it,” he said, and bounded out of bed to the bathroom.

He took a washcloth from the little cupboard beside the sink, turned the faucet on to dampen it, and looked up at his own reflection.

 _Jesus_ , he thought, mouth falling slightly open. Peter had left marks on his skin, the shape of his mouth on his collarbones, fingerprints on his wrists. His lips were swollen, there were bruises on his hips, and he was covered in come.

 _I’m a mess._ Johnny knew what people thought about how he looked. Knew that, yes, by most standards he was beautiful. But some part of him always felt like that was empty praise. Meaningless and, in the end, insincere. As if they were words meant for someone else, and no one was truly looking at him.

He wondered what people would say about him like this.

“Johnny? You okay?”

He turned his head. Peter was leaning against the doorframe, gloriously naked, looking at him in concern.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just—I look awful.”

Peter frowned and stepped inside, standing behind Johnny to look at his reflection. “I didn’t—You should have told me,” he said, touch ghosting over the marks on his clavicle. “I’ll be more careful.”

“No,” Johnny said sharply, making him raise his eyebrows in surprise. “I...I like it.”

He stepped closer and laid his hands over the spots on Johnny’s hips, the perfect size and shape of his fingertips. “Are you sure?”

Johnny drew him around and lifted his arm, showing him a line of crescent shapes matching Johnny’s nails along his forearm, a bruise on his bicep, a bite mark on his shoulder.  “You left marks on me. I left marks on you. It kinda comes with the way we do things.”

Peter blinked, as if he hadn’t noticed what Johnny had done to him.

“Peter?”

He looked up, gently taking the cloth from Johnny’s hand and setting it aside. “Let’s take a shower later, okay?”

“Later?”

Peter picked him up and set him on the edge of the sink. “I’m fucking you right now.”

“Thought you wanted to get back to work with Reed,” Johnny said, hating himself a little for being too easy, for the electric thrill of anticipation that now buzzed beneath his skin.

“Reed’s probably already forgotten I’m here,” Peter laughed, spreading Johnny’s thighs so he could stand between them.

“Pete—”

“I’ll stop if you don’t want this,” he said, all seriousness. His eyes drifted to Johnny’s throat. “But you look so good, I—”

Johnny cut him off with a kiss. “I want this,” he whispered. “I want you.”

Peter fit inside him easily, Johnny still stretched and ready, his body remembering the length and breadth of him. He wrapped his legs around Peter’s hips, threw his arms around Peter’s shoulders, and panted in his ear. The sound of Peter sliding in and out of him, of his body slamming into Johnny’s again and again, echoed against the tiles, obscenely loud.

Johnny came quickly, without Peter ever touching him, all over the hard planes of his stomach. He moaned as Peter continued thrusting through his orgasm, the feeling so overwhelming that it was everything. He heard no sound, he saw only white, and, when Peter finally came inside him, he knew nothing else.

 

+

 

“Hey. Give me your phone.”

Johnny tilted his head, confused, distracted by the weight of Peter’s arm thrown over his waist. It was already dark outside, the sun having set at some point while they’d been lounging in bed, not really doing anything beyond enjoying each other’s body heat. Johnny had been on the verge of drifting off, lulled by his warmth and solid presence. “What?”

“Give me your phone.”

Johnny frowned but reached down to the floor where his jeans were and found his phone.

Peter’s hands flew deftly over the screen for a few seconds before he handed it back.

Johnny quirked an eyebrow.

“My number,” Peter explained, and Johnny looked at the screen where a new contact had been added. PP. “You can delete it if you don’t want it. Just. You know. In case.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “You signing up to be a booty call?”

“No. I mean, I guess...But you can use it for other things.”

“Like what?”

He groaned and reached for the device again. “You know what, forget it. Forget this whole conversation.”

Johnny held his phone against his chest. “No. This is mine now. I’m keeping it.”

Peter looked pleased. His own phone on the nightstand beeped a minute later and he glanced over at it.

“Thought it’s only fair you should have mine,” Johnny shrugged, trying to act more casual than he felt. “You know. In case some day you’re cold and alone and need a space heater.”

Peter snorted and pressed his nose into Johnny’s neck. Johnny told himself he was too tired to push him away and let him snuggle close. “Where were you when I was broke and freezing and couldn’t afford heating?”

“Was that back when you were being a little shit to me and talking trash?” Johnny asked innocently.

Peter’s arm around him tightened. “You know I never really meant any of that, right?” He paused. “Well, maybe half of it.”

Johnny elbowed him. _“Half?”_

Peter ignored the interruption. “That was me being an insecure dumb kid.”

Johnny squeezed his arm in return. “We both were.”

“The hell were you insecure around me for?

Johnny laughed. “You know, you have enough of a swelled head as it is. I think I’ll keep it to myself for now.”

“Swelled head? Is that what we’re calling my—”

“If you make a stupid dick joke, I am never sleeping with you again.” The words fell from his lips in jest, but once he’d spoken them, he realized the underlying implication was true. Johnny had just admitted that he wanted to sleep with him again.

He felt Peter’s smile against his shoulder and Johnny couldn’t help but grin in return, closing his eyes drowsily in contentment. “Oh, well. Wouldn’t that be a shame.”

 

+

 

Johnny woke up the next morning with sore muscles and an empty bed. He would have still wondered if the previous day had been a dream, if not for the overwhelming evidence of the marathon sex that had taken place in his room. He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking how it was too bad that the sheets were fireproof, because their only salvation now was an incineration.

He was just about to roll himself out of bed when his phone on the nightstand rang.

_Peter._

Johnny scrambled to answer it. “Hello?”

“Oh, good. You’re finally awake,” said a familiar voice, and Johnny stifled a twinge of disappointment. It was only Sue.

Johnny sat up, yawning. “What’s going on? Why are you on the phone? Did you guys go somewhere without me?”

“We didn’t. Not yet. You’ve been dead to the world all morning. But I’m not surprised, given who slunk out of your room at the crack of dawn. But none of that matters right now. You need to get up on the roof.”

Johnny groaned, gingerly swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Why? What’s going on?”

“A big black hole appeared in Chelsea and we’ve been asked to investigate.”

“By investigate, you mean just stand outside waving instruments at it, right?”

“That would be sensible, wouldn’t it?”

“But when has good sense ever stopped us, huh?” Johnny sighed and hopped into his pants. “I’ll be up in two minutes,” he said, and hung up.

He started to put on the rest of his uniform but paused, catching sight of himself in one of his many mirrors. Johnny hesitated before moving closer.

Most of the marks from the night before had already begun to fade, red but not actually bruised. All of them, in fact, but one, high on his neck, just where the collar of his suit would hide it. He could remember very clearly when Peter had placed it there.

Johnny slowly pulled on his shirt, his mind deciding to play him a highlight reel of the day before.  Everytime he began to wonder if he was certain this wouldn’t bite him in the ass, his brain would remind him of Peter fucking him as hard as he wanted and doing things Johnny hadn’t even known he’d like. As if anyone else could take his place now. As if any other random, casual lay would be enough. Short of someone he was genuinely, deeply in love with, Peter may have just inadvertently but effectively ruined him for anyone else.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late for the same reason Chapter 3 was early. Life, guys, am I right?
> 
> (It’s also going to have the last bit of porn for a while. Good thing it’s like 12,000 words long?)

Peter hadn’t expected to become Johnny’s text-mate or anything, but he certainly hadn’t expected to be ignored for an entire week, either. He stared down at the one-sided message log on his phone. Were three lousy texts over the span of six days too pushy or not pushy enough? That was one message for every two days—hardly pestering him—and he’d been careful to keep things light. Maybe it was because he’d sent stuff Johnny didn’t find interesting. But then the last one was a cat photo. What kind of monster ignored cat photos? Even Peter, who only liked cats as purely theoretical beings, enjoyed cat photos.

_Face it, Parker. You’re probably just at the very bottom of the list of booty calls and he’s got no time._

He was just about to exit the conversation when the little animated bubble indicating someone was typing a response appeared in the corner of his display. For several interminable seconds, Peter entertained himself with all the possibilities. Like, _Fuck off,_ maybe. Or, _Leave me alone._ The worst would be _Who dis?_ but Johnny probably wasn’t that cruel.

Was he?

His phone vibrated and Peter re-focused on the screen. His brain was so loud, he had to read it twice to understand it.

 _speaking of cats I found your cat version,_ the message said, complete with attached photo of said cat, with long, immaculately groomed dark fur _except_ on its head, where it stuck up in all directions. It basked atop a white fence and looked suspiciously up at the camera.

It didn’t matter that it was two days late. It didn’t matter that his other messages had gone unacknowledged. Johnny wasn’t ignoring him or, if he had, then he’d stopped.

Peter quickly typed out his response. _He’s better-looking._

Johnny’s answer was immediate, with another attached photo, this time of Peter in a suit at some event or other, his hair slightly mussed.

_idk this guy is pretty hot I’d fuck him_

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. Downplay it? Be smug about it? Say thanks? He was much better at this face-to-face. His mouth on autopilot somehow always knew how to make Johnny laugh. He sat there thinking for about a minute, and he still hadn't made up his mind when a new message came.

_hey I know you’re always busy but do you think you can spare an hour?_

Peter raised his eyebrows. It was the middle of the day.

_I’ll bring coffee_

Peter hesitated, unsure what Johnny was expecting.

_am I bothering u_

Peter stared at the words on his phone, up at the ceiling in his office, and finally out the window.

The device in his hands rang and he answered it instinctively, belatedly realizing just who it was before he said hello.

“Tell me if I’m bothering you,” Johnny’s voice said, loud and clear. He sounded a bit anxious.

“You’re not,” Peter said.

“It’s almost lunch time, anyway. You should take a break. I’ll bring coffee _and_ a sandwich.”

“Johnny—”

“I’ll even explain why I didn’t text back until now.”

Peter swallowed. “Just the sandwich. We have plenty of coffee here.”

Johnny’s voice was brighter when he spoke again. “Okay. Okay, I’ll see you in a few.”

Peter hung up and buried his face in his hands. There were a thousand thoughts running through his brain, vying for attention. More work on the power source. The AI development he’d delegated to Anna Maria. The biotech department’s latest proposal for cryotech. Johnny laid out on his desk, golden and exquisite.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, trying desperately to think of everything _but_ the last. He’d already come up with improvements to his battery design, thought of specific ideas for Anna Maria to incorporate, and found several flaws in the cryotech proposal when the phone on his desk rang.

It was the newly-hired floor receptionist, sounding flustered and uncertain. “Mr. Parker, there’s—”

“Let him through,” Peter said, hearing an unmistakable voice in the background agreeing to a request for a selfie.

The door to his office opened a minute later, revealing a slightly apologetic Johnny Storm, face shadowed by a baseball cap.

“Disguise didn’t work,” Johnny shrugged, walking over.

Peter looked at him in exasperation. “Of course a stupid hat wouldn’t work. Have you seen yourself?”

Johnny dropped two sandwiches in a plastic bag on his desk, swept some papers aside, and planted himself in the space he’d cleared. “Yes, but you can tell me how nice I look if you want.”

Peter rolled his eyes then froze when he caught sight of something half-hidden under Johnny’s jacket collar. What had seemed like a shadow at first glance wasn’t that at all, and Peter found himself staring at the dark patch of skin halfway up his neck.

Something hot and bitter welled up inside him, unbidden.

Johnny must have noticed something in his expression. “Pete?” He frowned, one hand coming up to where Peter’s eyes were fixed. “Oh.”

Peter tore his gaze away. It’s fine. It was fine. He knew from the start all Johnny wanted was fun. Sex. Completely casual. And Peter had been fine with that. But if Johnny wanted to sleep around — well, that was none of Peter’s business.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Johnny said, peering cautiously at his face. “Well, unless you poke it really hard. I don’t mind. You know I told you I kind of like it.”

Peter pushed his chair back, putting more space between them, and wondered why the hell Johnny was telling him that.

“You didn’t hurt me in a way I didn’t want or ask for,” Johnny went on. “I know you get really worried about that.”

“Wait—What? Are you saying _I_ did that to you?”

Johnny blinked. “Well—yeah. Who else would?”

“I saw you last nearly a week ago. That looks pretty fresh,” Peter said, wincing internally at the way he sounded.

Johnny grimaced. “Yeah, remember when I said I had a good reason for not texting you back? I...We were...off-planet. And while we were away for only a few hours, when we got back here, it was somehow five days later.”

Peter stared at him. “Oh. I didn’t know you’d left the planet. I just thought you—”

_Were ignoring me. Were fucking anyone else but me. Were tired of me._

“—were busy,” Peter finished. He felt relieved. Then he hated himself for being relieved. It was stupid. Why had he been upset in the first place? Johnny Storm didn’t belong to him. He never would.

“Well, I was that, too.” Johnny picked at his jeans. “Do you...Do you want me to tell you when I’m going somewhere? I mean...just so you’d know. Or do you—You probably don’t care.”

Peter stood up and Johnny’s eyes tracked him, curious and wary. “I care.”

Johnny’s face flushed. “Oh. Then...Then I’ll tell you next time.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Well, I don’t want to bother you so if you think I shouldn’t…”

Peter had no clue what the hell was going on anymore or what Johnny wanted to hear. “Johnny.”

He stopped talking.

“Just tell me what you _want.”_

“Well, that’s easy,” Johnny whispered, gaze dropping to Peter’s mouth. “I want you to kiss me.”

So Peter did. Softly, at first. Tentative, not sure if something between them had changed. But it was still the same—kissing Johnny Storm still made his blood sing and set off sparks in his brain.

Johnny threw his head back and made a soft, appreciative noise as Peter’s mouth trailed down his neck. “Pete. Blow off work today. Come home with me.”

Peter was sorely tempted. It was taking every ounce of his self control not to push Johnny down on his desk and do everything he wanted, especially when he was offering himself up so completely. But he had work to do. Responsibilities. Though it was easy to forget what those were when Johnny parted his knees and tugged him forward by the front of his shirt. Peter almost — _almost_ — gave in and was only glad he hadn’t when the door to his office started to open. He jumped back, leveling Johnny with an accusatory glare.

Johnny only shrugged back, amused. “Well, you didn’t ask me to lock it. I’m not going to get in the way of your kinks.”

Anna Maria, halfway in, halted in her tracks at the last sentence, taking in the scene.

Peter assured himself it was fairly innocent. All their clothes were still on. Johnny was leaning back on top of the desk with his knees spread wide and Peter’s face felt like it was on fire, but they were decent.

“Am I interrupting anything?” asked Anna Maria.

“Nope. I was just about to leave, anyway,” Johnny said lightly, jumping off the table. “Just brought Peter his lunch.”

Anna Maria’s eyes widened when he turned and she caught sight of his face. “Oh my God. You’re—”

“Johnny Storm,” Peter sighed. “Johnny, Anna Maria.”

Johnny politely shook her hand. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay, Pete?” The tone was casual, even though the look in his eyes was not.

“Sure.”

“Let’s hang out at your place tonight.” He waved to Anna Maria and left.

Peter sat back down behind his desk and steeled himself.

Anna Maria raised her eyebrows at him.

“What? Are you gonna yell at me for not listening to you?”

“No, Peter. I’m not yelling at you.”

“You’re not?”

“Well, not because I just walked in on you making out with the Human Torch. At least you’re not getting yourselves all over the tabloids. I’m just kind of...disappointed you didn’t tell me he’s your boyfriend now.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Peter said automatically. _He’s not my anything,_ he almost added, but was conscious of how that would probably sound like whining.

“He brings you lunch,” Anna Maria said, poking the sandwiches as she sat in a chair in front of Peter’s desk. “And invites himself over and makes out with you. That’s a boyfriend.”

“Look, forget Johnny and let’s get to work. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Anna Maria rolled her eyes and placed a folder on Peter’s desk. She opened it and fanned out several pages of diagrams, code excerpts, and narrative reports. “ _I_ can forget Johnny,” she said, as Peter sat down. “Can _you?”_

Peter clenched his fists around his armrest, knowing better than to reply.

 

+

 

No sooner had Anna Maria left did Harry turn up at the door, a weird expression on his face. “Pete, can we talk for a few minutes?”

“Always got time for my partner in crime,” Peter said, gesturing at the chair Anna Maria had just left. “What’s up?”

“It’s about the building.”

“Did you find us one?”

“Not me...My father did. Sort of.”

Peter immediately grew wary, even though there shouldn’t have been anything wrong with Norman Osborn helping out his son. “Did he? How?”

Harry tapped one finger nervously on his knee. “Well, you know about Oscorp’s latest acquisition, right? One of their former subcontractors, some small research company that made a breakthrough in targeted gene therapy. They own a place in Harlem but it’s redundant, what with Oscorp’s own existing labs.”

Peter opened his mouth.

“He’s not letting us use it for free,” Harry said hastily, skipping ahead of his own story to cut Peter off. “But it’s the only actual lab facility we can afford to lease. There’s only so much we can do collaborating with other people in _their_ labs, you know that.”

“Harry—”

“And it’s not that big so the upkeep won’t be too costly. It comes with a ton of equipment that would be a pain in the ass to move out so we can lease the ones we’ll need, too. And I _promise_ I won’t stop looking for a site that would be just...ours. When we get more stable and have more lucrative contracts, we’ll have more options. I don’t like this much more than you do, but—” He sighed. “It’s a nice offer.”

Peter knew Harry was probably conflicted enough. He was always trying to prove things to his father and show him he was worthy of the Osborn name. Accepting a favor — and this _was_ a favor — seemed counterintuitive. At the same time, it was Norman Osborn showing support for something Harry was doing for once, and they really _could_ use it.

“Peter?”

He took a deep breath. “If it looks good to you, Harry, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t take it. You know this part of the job better than I do.”

Harry’s face slowly broke into a grin. “Really? You’re trusting my judgement.”

“I always trust your judgement, Har. I mean, I know you have excellent taste in friends.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. I guess I do. I’ll get all the paperwork ready. Do you know how many permits we’ll need? It’s insane. But if you want to see it first, just to know what equipment we may still need to install or if we need to make some structural changes before we move in, I can schedule a visit?”

“Sometime this week, sure.”

Harry beamed at him. “Okay, Pete. Hey. Day’s almost done. How about we go out tonight, get some drinks at a bar, maybe find you a pretty girl—or guy, now that I know you’re into both—”

“I—” _Johnny,_ Peter remembered. “Rain check? Something came up.”

“Would that something be named Johnny Storm?” Harry asked slyly.

Peter groaned. “Did Anna Maria tell you?”

“She’s been locked up in here with you all afternoon. And no one had to tell me, Pete. It’s a small office. I can see reception from my door.” He smirked and got to his feet. “I’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want you to be late for your date.”

“It’s not a date!”

“I’m just saying. If you’re rejecting my invitation, you better be getting laid instead.”

“Oh, God.”

“Norman asked me to show up at some Oscorp event, anyway. Guess now I got no excuse. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Peter agreed.

“Have fun on your non-romantic hookup that’s not a date with the Human Torch.”

“I need a new best friend.”

“Yeah, well. Good luck finding someone who’ll put up with you,” Harry said, and walked out.

Peter slouched in his seat and tried not to panic about his impending non-romantic hookup that was totally not a date. Because it wasn’t. It was very important he had that straight in his head because—

He didn’t actually want to think about _because_.

Because every time he and Johnny met, Peter felt himself sliding closer and closer to the edge of a precipice that he told himself he should never really fall off of. He wouldn’t. He _couldn’t_ , if he didn’t want to drive Johnny away.

 

+

 

Johnny showed up outside his living room window at 8:30 with a bottle of wine in one solid, flameless hand. Peter hurried to open it and Johnny landed right in front of him, a smile that was not as easy or bright as usual on his face.

“Hey,” he said, the last of the sparks in his hair going out.

“Hey.” Peter nodded at the wine. “Are we gonna get smashed?”

Johnny glanced at it. “You ever had sex while stumbling drunk? It’s not that great. We’re aiming more for a pleasant buzz,” he said, and set the bottle on the coffee table before plopping himself down on the couch.

Peter glanced over his shoulder at him, halfway to the kitchen area for wine glasses someone—he couldn’t remember if it had been Betty or Robbie—had gifted him long ago. “I’ll take your word for it...But tell me why. It’s not your birthday or something, is it?”

Johnny looked blankly at him. “No...I’m not celebrating anything.”

Peter found the glasses and walked back to him. He paused, vacillating between the couch and an armchair.

Johnny rolled his eyes, snatching the glasses out of his hand. “Seriously? You’re gonna be like that _now_?”

“It’s weird,” Peter said as Johnny poured for them both. “Don’t you think this is weird?”

“You’re _making_ it weird,” Johnny sighed. “Sit down.”

Peter sat down on the other end of the couch and Johnny passed him a glass. He stared down at the pale golden liquid, bemused.

“You’re supposed to drink it,” Johnny said dryly, watching him as he tipped the glass towards his mouth.

Peter took an experimental sip. He wasn’t really a big drinker. Alcohol was a luxury he couldn’t afford back when he’d been supporting himself and Aunt May solely by freelancing, and he wasn’t all that fond of the taste now.

Johnny raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“It’s okay, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

Johnny, to his surprise, threw his head back and laughed. “Do you have any idea how much this bottle cost?” he asked, sounding only mildly exasperated as he refilled his own glass.

“You trying to impress me, Storm?”

“Would you be impressed?”

Peter took another sip. It wasn’t _bad_ , he supposed. “Something tells me whatever price you say is going to horrify me. And anyway, I’m a nerd. You can easily impress me without flashing money.”

Johnny’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah? How do I do that?”

“You can tell me about your trip to space.”

Johnny’s brows knit together. “My trip?”

Peter frowned. “You said you guys went off-planet. You said—”

Johnny’s expression was indecipherable. “Oh, that.”

Peter waited.

Johnny glanced at his face, and drained his glass for the second time. “It wasn’t space. It was more like...a different dimension? The laws of physics were super funky.”

“Sounds interesting,” Peter said encouragingly, wanting to hear more.

“My powers didn’t work right in it,” he said, and the twist in his mouth finally made Peter realize he’d made a mistake in bringing it up. “I hate that.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t meant to put his foot in his mouth. It just tended to happen a lot with Johnny, who always had him off-balance to start with, anyway, and was part of the reason why they never really got along before.

 _Do we get along now?_ Peter wondered. Take away the (incredibly hot) sex and what would be left? They weren’t even friends. Not really. Were they? What did friends even do? They shared their problems, didn’t they? “Do you want to talk about it?” he tried.

Johnny looked contemplatively at him. Then he sighed, slouching deeper into the cushions. “There was this weird black hole that appeared in Chelsea and we were asked to look into it and…”

“Did you guys...go _into_ a strange unknown portal that appeared out of nowhere for no easily discernible reason?”

Johnny winced. “Pretty much.”

Peter blinked. “I get that you’re the FF and doing stuff like that is pretty much your thing, but—”

“Yeah, don’t try it at home kids. We’re professionals,” Johnny said dryly.

“So...What happened? What went wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, I guess—me. I did.”

“How?”

Johnny passed a hand over his brow. He looked resigned, not eager, to tell his story. “It was...It was _really_ dark in there, Peter. And cold. And I kept trying to light it up and it just—I may as well have been doing nothing. I may as well not have been there at all.”

Peter hesitated. “I’m sure the rest of your team—”

“No, just stop.” Johnny gave him a look. “I’m good for one thing, and you know it. And if I can’t even do that—It especially sucks when everyone else around you is this hyper-competent machine. Then the one time they really need you, you let them down.”

Peter started to say something but Johnny just cut him off again.

“You wouldn’t know what it’s like. You’re Peter Parker.”

Peter frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means _you’re_ a hyper-competent machine. You sold a patent and got stupid rich in the span of a year. Now you’re running your own company. You make all your own decisions. You did it all by yourself.”

“Only if ‘all by myself’ means with Harry Osborn. Because, you know. It’s called Parker-Osborn for a reason.”

Johnny waved his hand. “You know what I mean. Ugh.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I’m not having this conversation. Sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“This is supposed to be fun,” Johnny said, and made a face. “Listening to me be a sorry mess isn’t fun.”

There was more, Peter could tell. Something else Johnny wasn’t saying. _It doesn’t have to be just about fun,_ Peter wanted to say. He wanted to tell Johnny that it was okay. That he could tell Peter anything. That he was more than just the powers of the Human Torch. That he didn’t need to be able to set himself on fire to mean something.

Johnny set down his empty glass and abruptly plucked Peter’s out of his hand.  “Hey. You want me, right?”

Peter blinked back at him. Peter wanted him, of course. He wanted him in his bed. He wanted a lot of other things, too, but he wasn’t going to tell Johnny about those. “Yeah,” he said instead, more a breath than a word. “I want you.”

Johnny downed the remainder of Peter’s barely-touched wine. He put the glass down next to his with great care, then grabbed Peter’s hand and stood, pulling him up off the couch.

Peter didn’t need to be a genius to know why Johnny dragged him to his own bedroom. Why Johnny was impatiently tugging on the front of Peter’s shirt while his other hand worked on the zipper and buttons of Peter’s slacks. Why Johnny needed him again today. He wasn’t even being subtle this time. Making it plain that Peter’s main purpose was to serve as a pleasant diversion, someone who could fuck whatever bad thoughts were in there out of his head.

“Slow down, hot stuff,” Peter said when Johnny shoved Peter’s pants and underwear to the floor.

“Can’t wait,” Johnny said through gritted teeth. He pushed Peter down onto the bed half-naked then stripped off all his own clothes before crawling in to join him.  He straddled Peter’s bare thighs and slipped his hands under his shirt, stroking Peter’s abs. “I need to not think about... _that_. I need to not think about a lot of things, and you’re the best distraction around.”

It was difficult to feel hurt when Johnny was practically tearing both their clothes off, but Peter did—even though Johnny had only admitted what Peter had already known. “I’d have invited people over so you’d have options,” Peter joked, a little too bitterly, maybe.

Johnny paused, Peter’s shirt halfway up his stomach. Between the two of them, it was the last piece of clothing left. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“It’s fine.”

“Peter.”

Peter looked up.

“You’re the only one that I want right now, Pete. I came here, didn’t I? Not anywhere else.”

“Yeah...Yeah, you did.”

Johnny yanked Peter’s shirt off the rest of the way and kissed him—not sweet, but fierce, like his namesake. Like wildfire. Like the heart of the sun. Johnny’s mouth on his was scorching, his fingers skimming Peter’s body like embers raining on his skin. He could burn Peter up and leave nothing but ash, and Peter—Peter might let him.

Johnny stopped abruptly, eyes thoughtful as he studied his face.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

Johnny slowly shook his head. “There’s something about you, Parker.”

Peter frowned, thoughts sluggish and muddled. “Good or bad?”

“I don’t know yet,” Johnny said, and rolled himself off the bed.

“Johnny?”

“I’m getting the lube. You should really look into getting a nightstand with drawers or something,” he said, standing by Peter’s desk. He pulled the bottom drawer open and waved the bottle triumphantly.

“Wait,” Peter said, an idea sparking in his brain, and Johnny stopped, halfway back already. “Get the camera in the drawer above that.”

Johnny’s blue eyes glinted and he turned back around and did just that. He returned with a curious look on his face. “This is a Polaroid. Thought you said you were out of film.”

“I _was._ Then I got some.”

Johnny blinked. “You got film specifically so you could take pictures of me being fucked by you.”

“Not _specifically_ ,” he said, a bald-faced lie, and took the camera from him.

Johnny knelt on the bed and let him snap a picture. “Do all photographers have this one dumb kink or is it just you?”

“I don’t sleep with photographers so I have no clue.” He tossed the still-developing photo onto the bed. “Come here.”

Johnny moved close enough for Peter to flip them around and pin him to the bed, straddling his slim waist between his knees. Peter took the opportunity and snapped another picture of him, his golden hair mussed, expression mildly surprised.

Johnny groaned. “What part of ‘I can’t wait’ didn’t you understand? Come on, you should be wrecking me by now.”

“Eloquent,” Peter said, tossing the new photo onto the bedspread with the other.

Johnny bucked against him. “Peter.”

“No.” He aimed the camera slightly lower—Johnny’s pout just barely in frame, his chest and graceful neck on display—and took another shot.

“God. You are such a fucking tease.”

“Me? Who came to _my_ office in the middle of the day to get me all hot and bothered?”

“I was _trying_ to get you to ditch work.”

“Stop squirming,” Peter ordered when Johnny tried to budge him again.

Johnny stopped, to his surprise, and looked up at him expectantly, a faint flush creeping down his face and neck to his shoulders. Peter couldn’t help himself and took another picture.

“This kink is vaguely creepy, just so you know,” Johnny said when Peter put the print on the pillow next to his head.

“Thanks for the input,” Peter said, moving further down the bed. He nudged Johnny’s knees apart and knelt in the space between them. He looked him over slowly, appreciating every line, every angle, every curve of muscle. Johnny’s skin was completely smooth and he nearly literally _glowed._ “God, you’re beautiful. Every fucking inch of you is perfect.”

“Says the guy with the killer abs,” Johnny said. “Peter, this is killing me. _Do_ something.”

Peter cocked his head to one side, curious. Now that he thought about it, this was the first time they managed to get naked and in bed without being in some sort of desperate rush. It felt strange to be having a conversation like this. To have to think things through. Part of his mind was already flying well ahead, mapping out plans and alternatives, listing possibilities.

But first, he had to know. He licked his lips, anxious. “Tell me what you like.”

Johnny opened his mouth.

“And _don’t_ tell me anything _I_ do. You keep saying that.”

Johnny looked at him suspiciously. “This isn’t where you turn around and do the opposite, is it?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. I won’t do that. I promise. Come on. Just tell me. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Anything?”

Peter thought back to how he had looked, standing just inside his living room window—that nervous smile, frayed at the edges. “Anything. I want you to have a good time.”

Johnny’s expression softened. “Peter,” he said quietly, gently pulling the camera out of his hands. “How about we start with a kiss?”

“ _That_ —That’s easy,” Peter said, looming over him.

Johnny’s eyes followed him as he leaned forward, bracing his weight on one hand, flat on the mattress by Johnny’s waist. Peter touched him first, very slowly and gently brushing the knuckle of his index finger down the side of Johnny’s cheek, lighter than a feather.  He stopped right by his chin, finger slowly uncurling to stroke along the edge of his bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. Johnny’s mouth opened ever so slightly, a soft sigh slipping out between his teeth, and that was when Peter leaned down and kissed him. The rest of the sigh ended in Peter’s mouth, and he took it and swallowed it down. Johnny’s mouth opened wider to let him in, and he swept his tongue inside, brushing against Johnny’s own in a slow and patient exploration. He tasted of wine—sweet and sharp at the same time—and Peter decided that maybe he could get drunk, if drinking was just like this. If he could keep kissing Johnny forever.

Johnny made a soft, appreciative noise, instantly lost in the wet slide of their tongues, and leaned up, pressing as close to Peter’s body as he could.  One hand slid up Peter’s shoulder to curve around the back of his neck, fingers twisting through the dark hair curling there, giving first a gentle tug, and then rougher, and again, more sharply still. Each time, Peter deepened the kiss, and each time, Johnny let him take more and more, both of them skirting along the edge of a frenzy, until Peter broke away, dragging his mouth across Johnny’s jaw.

“That was a hell of a start,” Johnny breathed, and snickered. Their eyes locked together and Peter found himself laughing, too. Even at a time like this, it felt right and easy to do, as if laughter just belonged there, filling all the empty spaces between them.

Peter nuzzled against the side of his face. “Now what?” he asked, expectant.

Johnny bit his lip. “Touch me?” he whispered, voice ragged as his other hand joined the first, clasping together behind Peter’s neck.

Peter slid a hand down Johnny’s chest. “Touch you. Like this?”

“Yes,” Johnny said as Peter’s hand trailed further down. “Just like—” he gasped when Peter’s hand closed around his half-hard cock and gently squeezed. “Like that,” he finished weakly. His body shuddered when Peter’s thumb lightly massaged the head, fingertips spreading slowly down from the tip, then up, then down—again and again, slow and deliberate. After a few rounds of this, Johnny groaned and his hand covered Peter’s, trying to move it to wrap around his shaft.

“Nuh-uh,” Peter said reprovingly, pushing his hand away. “You don’t get to do that.”

Johnny frowned at him. “Not even thirty minutes and what’s already happened to your promise?”

“I said I’ll do anything you ask. You haven’t asked.”

Johnny gave him a steady look.

“Ask.”

“You know it’s so much easier to just threaten to set you on fire,” Johnny said testily.

Peter moved to whisper in his ear. “That only works if I didn’t know you never would.”

“Peter…”

_“Johnny.”_

Johnny swallowed. “Pete. Normally, I wouldn’t say no to a handjob. But now I need—I need more.”

“More than this?”

He nodded jerkily.

“What do you need?”

Johnny hesitated.

“Do you need me to suck your dick, Johnny?”

His cheeks turned red, and that was answer enough.  Peter moved lower until his face hovered just above Johnny’s hips, warm breath on his cock, and watched as it slowly grew harder. He could hear Johnny’s own breathing deepen and slow, a deliberate attempt to keep himself under control.

“You just gonna breathe on me all night?” Johnny asked, voice strained.

“You’re so impatient,” Peter murmured, making no indication that he was about to do otherwise.

“Do you—Do you even know how?” Johnny asked in a loud whisper.

Peter’s mouth twitched as he fought down a grin. “You got some nerve for someone who couldn’t even say it.”

“You just seem like you’re stalling right now.”

“Or maybe I just want to make you beg.”

That brought him up short, breath catching in his throat, and he stared down at Peter, assessing.

“Since you’re not playing by the old one, I’m changing the rules just a little. Ask me nicely, Storm,” Peter whispered, mere millimeters away from Johnny’s twitching dick.

Johnny’s mouth opened slightly, but then he clamped it shut and set his jaw.

“Suit yourself,” Peter shrugged, bending his head. “I guess I’ll have to work around it,” he added, and planted a kiss on Johnny’s hip.

They both knew who would win. Peter knew it and Johnny knew it, and yet they still played. Peter’s lips and mouth and tongue kissed and sucked and licked all around Johnny’s cock, pointedly ignoring the jut of flesh crying for attention. Peter hadn’t planned on torturing Johnny this way tonight. He’d truly meant what he’d said, but he hadn’t counted on both of their stupid stubborn and competitive streaks. So here he was, sucking and licking Johnny’s abs, just under his belly button, watching Johnny’s muscles flex and his cock twitch in response.  Johnny himself moved his legs restlessly on the bed, one of his arms thrown across his mouth to muffle his needy little noises, obviously intent on not giving him satisfaction by not showing his own. Except it was so pointless—Peter could hear his heavy breathing, could feel him trembling, and there was no way Johnny could hide his growing erection. The only thing Johnny could do was hope and pray he wouldn’t embarrass himself by actually blowing his load even without direct stimulation.

But then Peter gently sucked one of Johnny’s balls into his mouth.

“God,” Johnny burst out, hips jerking upward involuntarily. “God. _Fuck._ Okay. Okay, you win. Do it, you jerk.”

 _“Nicely,”_ Peter reminded him.

Johnny’s heels dug into the mattress, his back arching as he shoved his crotch in Peter’s face. “ _Please_ put my dick in your mouth, you bastard.”

“Torch.”

A muffled noise that sounded very much like a sob issued from his throat. “Peter. Please—I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Peter relented, if only to see him shatter further. It was always fascinating to watch him crumble. Johnny, Peter thought, was at his most alluring when he was being taken apart. All his carefully crafted looks, his practiced expressions — all of those fell away to reveal what lay underneath, and what was there was a thousand times more beautiful still. But Johnny didn’t realize that. He clearly thought that Peter was being a dick to him for no reason and stared back with a hint of defiance, unaware of the growing the cracks in his facade that Peter was fully intent on breaking wide open when he took him in his mouth.

Johnny’s reaction was immediate. He growled, guttural and raw, and bucked, thrusting into Peter’s mouth without warning until Peter gripped him by the hips and held him down.  “I’m sorry,” he gasped, meeting Peter’s disapproving stare. “I’m sorry. If you’d just—”

“Johnny.”

His teeth clicked together. “I’ll be good, I _swear_ ,” he promised. “I swear. Please don’t stop.”

Peter had no intention of stopping and, rather than tell him that, just showed him, drawing him back in easily, the first few inches heavy in his mouth.

Johnny’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his lips slightly parted, and his long eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to keep his eyes from falling shut. Peter was barely doing anything, just holding him warm in his mouth, and Johnny already looked like he was on the fucking edge.  He drew a deep, shaky breath, hands twisting the sheets. “Peter,” he whispered, the sound of his name nearly reverential, and Peter almost— _almost_ —let him have it. Almost abandoned the game he’d planned out in his head in favor of fucking the hell out of Johnny right then and there. _Almost._

Instead, he took him deeper still, increasing the pressure, sucking for all he was worth, his tongue lightly stroking each inch that went past his lips.

“Jesus _fuck_ , I’m sorry I doubted you,” Johnny muttered, feeling what he was doing, the shapes he was tracing with him nestled heavily in his mouth. “It’s not right that you’re so good at this,” he panted, one hand letting go of the bedsheet to grip Peter’s shoulder as he bobbed up and down.

Peter shot a quick look upward, just to see what he looked like at that moment, and was satisfied to find more cracks in the veneer. Johnny’s mouth was agape, the flush extended to his chest, and tremors went through his body as he fought to stay still, to _be good_ like Peter wanted—and all of it combined painted a pretty picture most people would never see.

 _Mine,_ Peter thought, sliding his lips all the way down, taking in all of him. _Just_ _for me._

“Peter. God, Peter. What are you doing to me?” Johnny gasped, hips rising off the bed as Peter hollowed his cheeks and pulled back, eventually releasing him with a loud, wet pop. “If you do that again, I’m going to come down your throat—”

“Well, that’s a shame. I guess I’m not doing that anymore, then.”

Johnny actually snarled at him. “Peter _fucking_ Parker, I think I hate you.”

“Baby, you keep saying that and it’s lost all meaning.” He pried Johnny’s fingers off his shoulder, pausing briefly to skim Johnny’s fingertips across his lips, and picked up the camera again.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Peter ignored him and lined up another shot. He was even more disheveled than before, the angry scowl only adding to the effect. Peter took a picture just as Johnny flipped him off.

He snorted. “Perfect. Now how about you get on your hands and knees for me?”

“Maybe _you_ should ask me nicely.”

“I suppose we could always call it a night right here.”

Johnny groaned and grumbled but rolled over onto his face and slowly pushed himself up.

“Facing me, sweetheart.”

Johnny made a small noise and crawled around. He’d misjudged the distance and ended up with Peter’s crotch in his face.

“I see you’re getting ahead of yourself, as usual,” Peter smirked.

“God, it’s going to be so satisfying to wipe that smug look off your face,” Johnny muttered, refusing to move away.

Peter tipped Johnny’s face up with a finger under his chin. “That’s exactly what I want, so I don’t know who you’re threatening here.”

“No threats. Just facts,” Johnny retorted.

Peter grinned at his mutinous expression. “Do you even have a plan or is the plan just to be good for me?”

Johnny turned red.

“ _Are_ you going to be good for me, Johnny?” Peter pressed.

“I hate you.”

Peter laughed softly, hand moving to the back of Johnny’s neck. “Not what I asked hot shot.”

Johnny looked up at him, rebellious effect ruined by his dilated pupils and the need written all over his face. “Yes,” he finally answered, with a great show of reluctance.

Peter considered his options, thumb brushing against Johnny’s plump bottom lip. Pouty lips and a wide mouth — it was too difficult to not want to fuck his face.  He put up the camera in his free hand, and this time Johnny didn’t complain. He just stared into the lens, pupils blown wide, with an expression that went straight to Peter’s cock. The picture joined the rest of the Polaroids strewn across the mattress.

“Do you know what I want?” he asked.

Johnny’s gaze hadn’t moved from his face. “I can guess.”

“Then it’s your move, pretty boy.”

Johnny fluttered his eyelashes at him, playing coy for now, and crawled forward, still watching him.  His expression grew bold, and he nuzzled against him, rubbing his cheek against Peter’s arousal like a cat. He grinned up at him suddenly. “Hey. Take a picture.”

Peter raised an eyebrow but lifted the camera in position. The Polaroid whirred, capturing Johnny smiling against Peter’s cock, half of his face obscured behind it. He had barely started to lower it when Johnny stuck out his tongue and licked him.

Peter felt a jolt in the base of his spine and dropped the camera, realizing it was the first real bit of attention his cock had gotten so far, and bit off a curse when Johnny did it again.

“Did you like that?” Johnny murmured, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“You little shit.”

Johnny’s self-satisfied grin lasted only for an instant, vanishing when Peter’s hand twisted in his hair.

“Don’t look so pleased yet,” Peter told him. “You’re just getting started.”

Johnny schooled his expression and took Peter in his hand, glancing up at him for approval. Peter nodded and Johnny, encouraged, pressed a quick, fluttery kiss at the very base of him, tongue flickering out for another taste. He followed it up with more feathery kisses, chasing after his hand as he languidly stroked up and down Peter’s length, his tongue leaving a wet trail as he went. It was a tactic designed to drive him crazy, Peter knew—the fleeting attention, the teasing caresses. It built the anticipation within him so well that when Johnny finally took him in his mouth, pushing him in as far back as he could in one go, Peter very nearly lost it.

Johnny must have felt him tense, must have known what Peter’s fingers squeezing him painfully in the shoulder meant, and closed his eyes and swallowed him further down, enveloping him in a velvet softness that warmed the pit of his stomach. Peter couldn’t look away. He didn’t even want to blink, not wanting to miss a single second of Johnny’s pretty face serenely taking him down to the root. He held still for a moment, and then opened his eyes and pulled off with excruciating slowness, gaze locked on Peter’s face, only to repeat the whole process when his lips caught on his flared head, diving straight back down without hesitation.

Peter lost track of time. The alternating rhythm of Johnny bobbing up and down his cock messed with his perception, and he found himself holding his breath on every slow, lingering upstroke, waiting for that heady rush when Johnny would go back down and it would all start again. Peter fumbled for the camera he’d dropped, raised it for the shot and, in the instant before he pressed the button, Johnny pulled him all the way out, resting the end of his shaft against his bottom lip, the head across his open mouth, with his tongue just touching the tip. It was absolutely intentional and incredibly pornographic.

“Jesus Christ,” Peter said. “You’re too much.”

“You can frame it and hang it over the bed,” he said, faintly smug as he planted a row of soft kisses along Peter’s hip. He licked a path across his skin, gently mouthed at his balls, and went back and took him in all over again.

Peter had never done drugs in his entire life, and he wondered if this was how it felt—flooded by a sense of euphoria and freedom that went beyond merely being drunk—not that he was sure what that felt like, either. But the intoxicating sight of Johnny’s hungry expression and the sound as he worked, sloppy but determined, on Peter’s cock went straight to his head. His thoughts were sent flying in every direction, until he was left with nothing but one.

“Get on your back, Johnny.”

Johnny inhaled deeply and paused, Peter’s dick pressing against the back of his throat, and slowly backed off. “Are you going to fuck me now?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes, I’m going to fuck you now,” Peter said dryly.

 _“Finally,”_ Johnny said, falling onto the mattress, amid all of the pictures of himself. “I was starting to think I’d have to do it myself.”

Peter lost no time pouring lube onto his hand, finally ditching his plans for extended foreplay for real. There was no need for it anymore. They were both too far gone.

Johnny, too, didn’t wait to be asked, seeing what Peter was doing. He drew his knees up along the mattress and spread his legs, holding himself open.

“Good boy,” Peter breathed, leaning down and kissing him. “You’re incredible. Have I ever told you that?”

Johnny preened. “Yes. But you can tell me anytime you want.”

Peter hummed into his hair and pulled back. “Ready?”

“For you, all the time,” Johnny said, sounding so sincere, Peter almost believed him.

Peter touched him, keeping his eyes on Johnny’s face as he gently stroked across the hole he was offering up, rubbing lube around the entrance. He saw Johnny’s mouth move soundlessly, mouthing the word _fuck_ as his eyes fell shut. Peter lightly circled the rim with the pad of his thumb and Johnny’s body trembled in response, bottom lip drawn between his teeth, biting down hard and turning it a darker red.

Peter leaned forward, licking his lips, and slowly worked one finger in. He pushed hard against the initial resistance, fighting to break through the tight ring as Johnny keened, high and long. One more push and he was through, and Johnny let out the sweetest sigh, relaxing around him and taking his finger all the way in. Peter carefully moved it in and out, watching Johnny and waiting for the signal that he was ready for more.

It came in the form of his name, a whispered plea on the edge of a moan, and Peter shifted on his knees. He let another finger join the first, his other hand coming up to stroke Johnny’s cock, following the same rhythm.

Johnny tossed his head restlessly, hands digging into his own thighs, turning them red. Peter scissored the fingers inside him, stretching him open further, and Johnny let out a wail that spoke to some primal part of Peter’s brain.

Johnny’s eyes flew open. “Peter,” he began, voice raw. He spasmed and gritted his teeth, struggling to speak through the wordless noises being torn from his throat. “Peter, I can’t—I need you. Inside me. I need—”

Peter was pressing against his entrance in an instant, needing exactly the same thing and unable to hold back any longer. Johnny moved to meet him, pushing upwards in his eagerness but making it even harder to slip through his barely stretched hole until Peter put a hand on his chest and held him down. Johnny whined, but kept still, waiting. Peter pushed forward one more time, torturously slow, and finally felt him give, muscles relaxing and opening up to greedily pull him further in. A hundred expletives crowded onto his tongue when he bottomed out, exploding in one incoherent grunt that blended with Johnny’s cry.

Peter fell forward, sinking deep inside Johnny as he planted his hands on either side of him, bracing his weight. Every cell in his body felt like it was vibrating, shocks going up and down his spine as he settled, fully sheathed inside Johnny’s heat. It was almost too much. He moaned, unable to be any more coherent, and felt a hand thread through his hair and another cup the side of his face.

“You feel so good,” Johnny whispered, eyes wide and round, as if the fact was wholly unexpected, as if they hadn’t already done this a dozen times. His thumb stroked Peter’s cheekbone. “Every time, it’s like you were made to fit inside me. God. Do you have any idea?”

Peter almost laughed, feeling on the verge of hysteria. Because Johnny fit around him like a glove, tight and warm and glorious. And Peter wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him that they were a perfect fit. That they were perfect _together_. But that was the kind of talk you reserved for someone you were in love with, not for a casual hookup you just sort of stumbled onto.

“Peter, look at me. Please?”

Peter lifted his eyes to Johnny’s face.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I wasn’t aware we were doing the polka this whole time.” His smart mouth. His stupid smart mouth must be connected to some independent corner of his brain specifically wired to say stupid smart things even if the rest of him was dead.

“Fuck me like you mean it, asshole. Fuck me like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I like pineapples on my pizza.”

“Heathen.”

“I think avocado rolls are the pinnacle of sushi.”

“Disgusting.”

“I put ketchup on my hotdogs. I want five sugars and three creams in my non-fat dairy-free decaf latte, and you know what? Donuts? Are _better_ than bagels.”

“Why the fuck would you put three creams in a latte?”

_“Parker.”_

This time, Peter really did laugh, one hand gently pulling Johnny’s hands away from his hair and face, kissing both of his palms before pinning them over Johnny’s head. “I can’t hate you, as vile and reprehensible as you’ve turned out to be.” He leaned in, breathing into the shell of Johnny’s ear, and felt a shiver pass through the other at the feeling. “But I can give you what you want.”

Johnny sucked in a breath, only to let it out again as a cry when Peter slammed into him, hitting the perfect spot. Johnny clamped reflexively around him, gripping him so tightly that Peter couldn’t help but moan as he pulled back out to do it again. But the next stroke felt just as good, and the one after that, and the one after that, and Peter stopped thinking, burying himself in Johnny, over and over again.  He could feel himself spiraling, lost in the mindless motion, drawn inexorably into the middle of a whirlpool.

And Johnny looked like he was heading there with him, straining against Peter’s hand pinning his wrists. “Pete. Pete, let me touch you. Come on.”

He eased up and Johnny immediately draped one arm around Peter’s neck, the other braced against his chest. Johnny’s head lolled against the pillows, eyes falling shut as Peter repeatedly nailed his prostate, the sensations threatening to overwhelm him. “You are so good,” he babbled, voice breaking with each thrust. He sounded like the words were being punched out of him, gasping every other syllable out with a breath. “You’re so, _so_ good. Just a little more. Just a little harder. Please?”

Peter hiked Johnny’s legs up, ankles crossed over his lower back, and gripped the iron headboard to brace himself.

Johnny peered up at him and swallowed at whatever he saw on Peter’s face. He opened his mouth, presumably to say something, but Peter plowed into him hard just then, and whatever he’d been about to say was lost when he cried out Peter’s name.

It was a struggle to keep focused, to not lose control in every stroke. Johnny wanted the burn but Peter didn’t want to hurt him completely. He wanted it to be nothing but good and, judging by the way Johnny’s eyes were rolling back in his head, his rapid breathing, and the way he was suddenly clenching uncontrollably around Peter, he was succeeding.

“Oh, God,” he heard Johnny say beneath him, over the sound of the bed rocking against the wall. Johnny shouted his name one more time and orgasmed, the word sending a shot of pure adrenaline through his veins, and all at once everything seemed so overwhelming. Every brush of skin on skin, Johnny’s tight walls closing in around him, the wet sounds of their fucking, Johnny’s cologne, the natural scent of his soft, warm skin, the nearly unbearable texture of the sheets under his knees. His heart thrummed in his chest, way too fast, and for a moment he wondered if this was what it felt like to have a heart attack.

Except he wasn’t dying. He felt amazing. He heard Johnny speaking, somewhere beneath the rush of his blood thundering in his ears, begging him to come inside him. And Peter did, his entire body shaking as the moonlit room suddenly seemed so bright, and resisted one final urge to ram into Johnny, afraid that he might hurt him. He bent forward, fingers on the headboard tightening as he funneled all the rest of the tension in his tightly wound body into his hands.

It wasn’t until Johnny stretched up and kissed his throat, hand on the back of his neck as he rode through Peter’s orgasm, that something snapped, shocking and loud. For a moment, they were both frozen, until Peter looked down, abruptly brought out of the high and worried that he may have caused harm. But Johnny just stared back at him, eyes wide with shock, amusement and confusion. Peter looked around, pulling out of Johnny and away from the headboard — only to have a portion of the iron bar he’d been holding on to break right off.

Johnny made an odd, choking noise. _“Peter.”_

He looked down at the foot-long piece in his hands. The metal directly under his fingers had crumpled and folded.

Johnny rolled over beneath him, leaning up on one elbow, and poked at what remained of the headboard. “How did you do that?” he asked suspiciously.

Peter blinked. “I—”

“Do it again,” Johnny ordered, pointing at the other bars remaining intact.

Peter obediently curled his hands around one and tugged. Nothing happened.

“Put your back into it.”

“I...I think it was just brittle, Johnny,” he said at last, after another round of pulling and straining proved fruitless.

Johnny pouted, settling against the pillows as he chucked the iron bar over the side of the bed. “I thought you might be a mutant or something. Then we could have had hot, kinky superpowered sex. But I guess no one’s perfect.” His brows suddenly snapped together and he grabbed Peter’s hands. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Peter bit back a smile as Johnny inspected his palms. “I’m fine. See?” He wiggled his fingers.

Johnny’s lips quirked and he leaned back, chest heaving, looking like a piece of art in the afterglow. “Hah. Well, now I guess I can brag that I’ve had bed-breaking sex.”

Peter reached for the camera they’d kicked dangerously close to the edge of the bed.

“No,” Johnny complained over-dramatically, warding him off. “I probably look like a mess.”

“Yeah, but the good kind.” Peter snapped a picture and looked at it fondly. The facade was completely gone now, and Johnny’s honest face, open and vulnerable, made his heart do funny things.  He looked around and set the last photo down next to the first, marveling at the difference.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “By the way, you haven’t thanked me yet.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “Thanked you?”

He nodded at the pictures scattered on top of the bed. “I was the one who brought up the camera last time, and now look who’s found a kink.”

“It’s not a kink.”

“ _Sure_ it isn’t, says the guy who just fucked me on top of a pile of pictures of me taken _while_ he’s fucking me.”

“That’s circumstantial evidence.”

Johnny snatched the camera out of his hands and pointed it in his direction. “Smile, you big fat kinky weirdo.”

Peter grimaced and Johnny pressed the button.

“Hey, no!” Johnny exclaimed when Peter went to take the print. He held it just out of his reach. “This one’s mine. You’ve got all of those dirty, _dirty_ pictures to jerk off to already.”

“I can’t believe you’re kink-shaming me.”

“I’m not. To show my support, I’ll even get you a nice scrapbook to put them in so you don’t just cram them into a shoebox like an amateur creep.”

Peter lay back, deciding defending himself wasn’t worth it, not when Johnny was half right, anyway. He thought of the photo of Johnny with Peter’s cock against his mouth and felt his blood rise. Surely, Johnny wouldn’t hold it against him if he jerked off to that in the future. “You wanna get cleaned up?” he asked, gesturing lazily in the direction of the bathroom.

Johnny leaned on his chest with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Nope.”

Peter stared at him and Johnny grinned. “What, again?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was fucking an old man who can only get it up once.”

“First of all, you’re older than I am. Second of all—” Peter took his hand and placed it right where he was ready to prove him wrong. “I’m up.”

Johnny groaned and slid on top of him. “We should have just started screwing long ago. Think of all that sexual tension we wasted insulting each other.”

“Sexual tension?” Peter quirked an eyebrow as Johnny’s hands ran down his chest. “I thought you just hated me.”

“I was pulling your pigtails, Peter.”

“And now you’re pulling my—”

Johnny covered his mouth. “Your dirty jokes are worse than your regular jokes. Shut up.”

Peter dragged his hand off his face. “Make me.”

Johnny kissed him, eyes alight, and Peter felt as if a heavy weight had been placed on his chest. He was glad that the Johnny from earlier in the night, the one half a breath away from despair, was no longer in sight. But he also knew that it hadn’t vanished, that it would return the moment Johnny was no longer preoccupied. The thought was alarmingly distressing.

Peter would do anything to keep that strange sadness away forever, if Johnny would only let him.

“What are you thinking, Pete?” Johnny murmured, sensing his distraction. “Am I boring you?”

“Never,” he whispered back.

Johnny smiled, gently stroking his cheek. “Are you thinking about what you’re going to do to me next?”

“I have some ideas.”

Johnny’s eyes smoldered, a faint orange glow appearing briefly in place of blue. His hands cupped Peter’s face, infinitely gentle. “Show me.”

So Peter did.

 

+

 

It was dark, but the river wasn’t cold. It wasn’t warm, either. It just was, flowing sluggishly between its banks, swirling around Peter’s knees as he blinked into the black. He had no desire to cross the dark expanse. All he wanted was—

What, exactly? He couldn’t remember. It niggled at the back of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring the thought into focus. It just stayed there, like a shadow he could see out of the corner of his eye.

Peter took a step forward. The river shifted and rose and clung heavily to his pants. His fingers skimmed the surface and he shivered as he felt a drop trickle—

 _—up_ his sleeve.

That was all kinds of wrong.

He looked down as he felt more rolling up his arms and instantly regretted it.

The river was a black, moving mass, and it wasn’t made up of water. He watched, frozen in stupefied terror, as black surged up his arms and his torso in tens, dozens, _scores_ of small, skittering bodies.

Something brushed the back of his neck and, skin crawling, Peter unfroze, running out of the river with a scream. The river wasn’t a river at all. At least, not one filled with water.

He danced on the bank, trying to shake them off, but they kept coming, covering his legs, coating his arms, crawling onto his face, engulfing him. There were hundreds of them. Thousands.

Spiders.

 

+

 

Peter jumped out of bed, skin still crawling, tingling with the memory of thousands of tiny legs. He shook himself, hands swiping at his arms. _Get them off, get them off, get them—_

“Peter? Are you okay?”

Johnny’s concerned murmur woke him up the rest of the way and Peter looked up, blinking in the moonlight. Johnny was still in bed, having crawled to the foot of it, near where Peter knelt on the floor. The sheets pooled around his waist, his bare skin glimmering in the moonlight.

“I’m fine,” Peter said automatically. “Just had a...funny dream. Go back to sleep.”

Johnny watched him rise to his feet, expression unreadable in the dark. “Pete?”

“Go back to sleep,” he repeated, and headed for the bathroom without so much as a glance back.

The bright white light was a relief, despite how it seared into his eyeballs. At least it helped convince him that no—he _wasn’t_ covered in spiders. Goosebumps, yes, but no spiders.

But it wasn’t enough.

He stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on. He stood under the torrent, letting it beat down on him hard enough to sting, and worked his fingers through his hair—just in case—but dislodged nothing.

 _Just a nightmare, Parker. The same one you keep having. The spiders aren’t real._ It was just, for some reason, even worse than normal. More vivid. More _spidery_. So many of them, he could drown.

He heard the stall door slide open and a light step behind him.

“You’re _not_ fine,” Johnny said quietly into his shoulder.

Peter sighed and turned around to face him. “I just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

Johnny frowned. “Do you have a lot of those?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s no more than you do.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You should have. I’ve still got come all over me.”

“I kind of like you this way. All filthy.”

“I know. I know about all the weird things that turn you on.”

“Yeah? Says someone who totally has perfectly vanilla preferences,” Peter said, and backed him into the wall, one hand sliding to Johnny’s neck, aligning with the bruises there.

Johnny made a small noise, remembering. “ _You’re_ the one who does all of those things to me. I don’t see you _not_ getting off.”

“Touché.”

Johnny tilted his head back against the tiles, his breath slow and uneven as Peter’s hand fit around his throat and gently squeezed. He’d begged for it earlier, the choking, and Peter had let him have it with both his hands and his cock. “Have you always been a kinky bastard?”

“You’ll have to ask my exes.”

“Ooh, plural. What a stud,” Johnny said. “You should introduce me to some of them some time. We can compare notes.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re mocking me.”

“Only a little bit.” Johnny pulled Peter’s hand away from his neck. “Hey. Do you feel better now?”

“Only a little bit,” he echoed.

Johnny hummed. “Tell you what. After we get cleaned up, how about I give you my super special Human Torch massage, one time offer, just so you know, and I guarantee that you’re going to sleep the best sleep of your life.”

Peter pretended to consider it. “Does super special mean it comes with a happy ending? Because—”

Johnny shoved him away. “Happy endings cost extra. For you, _double_.”

Peter grinned, the nightmare fading away, like clouds in bright sunshine. He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a breathlessly laughing Johnny back in his arms. “Haven’t you heard? I’m rich. I can afford a happy ending. Maybe even two.”

Johnny’s eyes sparkled. “Hell. Let’s go crazy. I’ll give you a third for free.”

“Done deal,” Peter said, and kissed him.

 

+

 

“Wish you’d told me your father would be here when we did this, Harry,” Peter muttered the following afternoon, anxiously tugging his collar away from his neck. They were standing under the hot sun outside the building Harry had told him about, waiting for Norman to arrive.

“I couldn’t make him _not_ come. He does own the place, Pete.” Harry glanced at him and did a double-take. “Stop fidgeting. You’ve completely messed up your tie. Come here.”

“Ugh,” Peter said as Harry fixed it for him.

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous. My dad thinks you’re the son he never had.”

It was an old joke, but the bitterness in it never truly went away. “Har.”

Harry flicked an apologetic glance at his face and smoothed the tie flat against his chest. “Sorry. Look, I know he keeps trying to offer to adopt you, but you should consider saying yes and running away with his money. I want a new Ferrari and your stupid company has tied up mine.”

“ _I_ want a new Ferrari.”

“You can’t drive dipshit.”

Peter regarded him with a shocked expression and Harry managed a full second of a straight face before both of them burst into laughter. Peter felt himself relax. Sure, Norman Osborn would probably still creep him out when he got there, but Harry was there, too. Somehow, Peter always felt stronger when he was around.

“So,” Harry began after they’d both regained their composure. “How was your non-romantic dinner with the guy you’re not dating?”

Peter was saved from answering by Norman’s car rolling up just then, a fact he hated since the idea of owing Norman anything (even if the man didn’t know about it) made him faintly ill.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Harry told him out of the corner of his mouth.

“What a fine day to see a pair of outstanding young gentlemen,” Norman greeted them, approaching them with wide open arms.

Peter smiled wanly when Norman patted him heavily on the shoulder before turning to circle an arm around Harry.

“It’s good to see you, too, Dad,” Harry said. “You didn’t have to come all this way, though. You could have sent someone in your staff to show us around.”

“Nonsense,” Norman said, waving impatiently for the security guard to open the door. “Why would I pass up the perfect excuse to see my son?”

Peter, walking behind them on their way in, raised his eyebrows. He could distinctly remember every school event Norman had somehow wriggled out of but held his tongue. Harry looked pleased, and maybe Normal really was trying to do better. Whatever his personal feelings were—which didn’t make much sense, anyway—Harry deserved to be close to his father, and Peter wasn’t going to put a damper on that for some vague reason like “he makes me uncomfortable.”

Peter decided to ignore Norman’s existence as far as the situation would allow instead, following behind father and son a few yards behind. He needed to get a good look at the equipment and facility, anyway, so no one was bothered that he was lagging behind just a little.

As far as he could tell, the place was well-equipped with most of the standard equipment for a biomedical research facility, along with a few more unusual ones that Peter had to admit he’d never used before.

He was standing just outside a glass-enclosed room trying to work out what the set-up inside might have been for when Norman and Harry started doubling back in his direction.

“I truly am proud of what you’re trying to accomplish, son, and what you’ve done so far,” Norman was saying. “But I still look forward to the day when you’re helming your own company. No offense to Peter, of course.”

“None taken. And you know, his name is on it, same as mine,” Peter told him. “He keeps the wheels turning.”

“Of course, of course. And you’re the man with the map in his head, Pete. You’re the one with the vision.”

Peter saw Harry’s smile fade just a little and imagined himself punching Norman in the face.

Norman smirked at him. “So, have you seen enough, Mr. Parker? Does the building suit your needs?”

“There’s some equipment we have no need for. And a few we’ll need to bring in.”

Norman nodded. “You’ll have to make the arrangements for transport, but as the equipment currently here are all ours, we can handle the storage.”

Peter looked at Harry, who was watching their exchange carefully. “Structure-wise, it’s perfect, right down to size. We’re only a small team, after all.”

“So far,” Norman interjected.

Peter ignored the interruption. “Harry, If you think we can really handle the finances—”

“We can’t give ourselves half a million dollar bonuses on Christmas, but we weren’t going to do that, anyway.”

“There’s no need to hurry into a decision,” Norman said, seeming to sense Peter’s hesitation. “You can talk it over with the rest of your staff. In the meantime, I’ll have someone forward a complete inventory of the assets in the building so you can decide which will be added to the lease agreement.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Harry said gratefully. “Pete?”

“Seems like the best idea.”

“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” Norman said, rubbing his hands together.

“Yeah...Peter and I will head back to the office.” Harry hesitated. “Will Liz and I see you at dinner?”

“Of course,” Norman said. “But I’d like to ask Peter to join me in the car. I’ll drop him off back at your office, don’t worry. There’s just a matter I’d like to discuss.”

“We can talk about it now,” Peter said, not wanting to be stuck in a car with Norman while crossing New York traffic.

“It might get complicated as it’s a...let’s say a consultation regarding one of Oscorp’s projects. All the notes are in my car.”

“It’s okay. Right, Pete?” Harry asked, nudging Peter in the back. “It’s fine. I’ll see you back at our place.”

Norman smiled and Peter sighed inwardly.

Peter was suspicious of Norman’s excuse for getting him alone, however, and it turned out he had reason to be. The first thing Norman did when the doors locked automatically and the car started to move was offer Peter a glass of whiskey. Not exactly the sort of thing Peter would have opened with if he needed a science consult.

“What’s this really about, Norman?” he asked instead, waving away the offer.

“I wonder, Mr. Parker, how I seem to have wronged you? You used to be much more...friendly.”

Peter felt his face heat up at being called out for his behavior. It was true. He’d looked up to Norman Osborn once. He wasn’t certain when and why it had stopped either. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I’d blame the stress but that’s no excuse. I’ll...try to be—”

“Nicer?” Norman laughed. “It’s all right, Peter. I know your type pretty well. Hell, I’m the same. We make up our minds about something, and then it’s nearly impossible to change. We’re alike, you and I. I wish Harry could learn how an Osborn should be but it seems he merely recognizes it. At least, I assume that’s part of why he thinks of you like a brother.”

If Harry ever told him they were friends because he was like his father, Peter would be horrified.

Norman leaned forward, face full of sincerity. So full of it, Peter knew it was completely an act. “It’s just you and me here, Mr. Parker. Harry can’t hear us. The car is driving itself. If there’s anything — anything at all — that you want to say to me, if you have a problem with me of any kind, now is the time to let it all out.”

Peter stared at him, confused as to what, exactly, Norman was fishing for. “I don’t have any problem with you,” he said. Nothing specific enough to mention. Nothing that he could put into words. Just a shrill screaming in the back of his skull, like a fire alarm turned up to a thousand.

“Well. That’s good to hear,” Norman said, smiling with nothing but his mouth. “You’re Harry’s best friend. You’re practically family. It’s terrible when things come between a family.”

“The worst,” Peter said faintly.

“You’d do anything for Harry, wouldn’t you?”

Peter frowned. “Of course, I— _ow!_ ”

Norman raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Something bit me,” he muttered, embarrassed and accusatory at the same time. He glanced behind him at the back of his perfectly innocent, perfectly normal seat.

“Oh, dear. Must be a bug. And I just had the car detailed.”

Peter looked at him. “I’m surprised that even Norman Osborn’s car can have bugs.”

“Oh, bugs get into _everything_ , Mr. Parker. They’re very annoying,” he said, and leaned back in his seat.

The rest of the ride passed with small talk, and Norman even let there be some truth to the lie he told Harry by showing Peter notes on molecular imprinting and asking for his opinion on a project. But the screeching migraine in Peter’s head made it too difficult to concentrate on anything, though his uselessness did mean Norman just let him be until they arrived outside Parker-Osborn’s offices.

He stumbled out of Norman’s car in front of the mid-rise his company was renting two floors of, barely even hearing Norman’s farewell, and was immediately relieved when the strange feeling subsided as soon as his car vanished from sight.

His phone rang, making him jump and snapping him back to the present, under the hot sun and breathing smog.

It was Harry. “Pete, are you guys still far? I’m gonna call an emergency meeting and I need to set the time.”

“I’m here. On my way in.”

“In fifteen minutes, then? Gives you time to focus beforehand.”

“I’m focused,” he protested, sliding into an elevator at the last second.

“Peter. Thinking of a thousand things at once is, like, your hobby. But try to keep it down to maybe three for this meeting, okay? Two, if the other thing is Johnny Storm.”

Suddenly Norman Osborn, buildings and laboratories, and molecularly imprinted polymers were the furthest things from his mind, and Peter hung up on Harry without warning. Served him right for teasing him. As if he needed a reminder about last night. As if he hadn’t spent an entire hour under a freezing shower that morning. As if Johnny Storm wasn’t already stuck inside Peter’s head all the goddamn time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tw// suicidal ideation)

Sue was in her pajamas and watching the news when Johnny crept into the living room with the morning sun. She looked him up and down over the rim of a coffee mug and he self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. The way she was studying him made him feel like he was sixteen and creeping in through the window in Glenville after staying out late to be with Doris Evans. Which was, at this point in his life, a really weird feeling to have.

He cleared his throat. “You’re up early.”

“And you’re home late,” Sue returned calmly.

Johnny opened his mouth, about to make a joke about him being home _early_ , not late, but her expression cut him off.

Sue didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. She made a show out of clicking through the channels, faking nonchalance.  “Interesting place you were spotted in yesterday. I didn’t know you liked visiting startup research companies and their CEOs.”

“Are you Googling me, sis?”

“I just hope you’re careful who you...spend your time with.  I know you can defend yourself in a fight, but there are other ways you can still get hurt.”

She was fishing, hoping Johnny would tell her what was going on.  His entire family surely knew Peter Parker had gone beyond just a one-night stand at this point and she doubtless wanted to know if this was just another one of his quick flings or something else.  Not that his relationship with Peter was any of their business.

_Relationship._

Could he call being railed by the same guy for the last several days with no emotional attachments or obligations a relationship?

Sue sighed, dropping the remote control and the pretense.  “Look, I know you’re a grown man and you don’t need to tell me what’s going on in your life, but just an FYI would have been nice.  I was worried. You were acting oddly before you left.”

That explained why she was giving him the same look she always used to when she wanted him to realize he’d done something wrong. That also made him look a little bit closer.  Sue looked tired, and there were circles under her eyes.  Johnny felt a pang of guilt when he realized that she wasn’t up early.  She’d stayed up all night.

_You were acting oddly before you left._

That was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

“You’re right,” Johnny said, slowly backing out of the room instead.  “I’ll be sure to let you know next time.  If that’s all, I’m gonna get some shut-eye and—”

“Wait.”

Johnny paused, already half out the doorway.

“Can you not go out tonight? Reed and I are going to be working on something later and I need someone to watch Franklin.”

Johnny loved his nephew, but he wasn’t sure Franklin was going to find him fun today. “Ben?”

“He’s going out with Alicia.”

“Fine. I can babysit later. Right now I’m gonna go and pass out,” he said, backing the rest of the way out and power walking away before she could think of something else to say.

Once inside his room, he fell face-down onto his bed, forgetting about his plans for a shower.  The pleasant ache he’d felt earlier had transformed into a bone-deep weariness. Memories of the last mission hovered along the edges of his recollection while his mind desperately tried to hold on to every second of the night he’d spent with Peter to keep them at bay.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he sighed into his mattress before pulling it out.

He almost laughed when he read the caller’s name.  It was Peter. His timing was apparently just always impeccable, even outside sex.

“Hey,” Johnny said, wondering if he could hear the relief in his voice.  “What’s up?”

“Just checking to see if you’ve made it home,” came the reply, and Johnny tried to picture him.  Was he still in bed? He conjured up an image of Peter stretched out on his mattress, looking like a Renaissance sculpture of some young Greek god.

“I’m the Human Torch, you know,” Johnny pointed out.

“You’ve still managed to get kidnapped a few times.”

Johnny groaned. “I’m home. Somehow, I did not get attacked by a super villain in the fifteen minutes since we last saw each other.”

“Congratulations,” Peter said dryly.  There was an amused silence from his end for a few seconds. “I should let you sleep.”

“Before that, what are you wearing?” he asked impishly.

“Oh, no, Storm,” Peter said, laughter in his voice.  Johnny bit back a smile. He could just imagine the face that went with it—the crinkle around the corners of his eyes, the humor in them. The rare lopsided grin that made Johnny’s stomach do funny things.  “I have work to do.”

“ _You_ should get some sleep yourself.”

“Can’t. I have a meeting in three hours and I need to prepare for it.”

Johnny frowned. “You should have said something last night.”

“I can handle it,” Peter said. “Goodbye, hot stuff.”

Johnny started to reply but he had already hung up. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, mind wandering back to earlier at Peter’s place. His voice had brought him back there, to the last thing that they had done. Johnny—dressed and ready to leave—being brought to his knees. Peter had looked so striking, silhouetted in the light of dawn streaming in from the living room window.  It was a thing for him, fucking Johnny’s face, staring down into his eyes and murmuring a steady stream of compliments and filthy things, and Johnny would be lying if he said he didn’t like it just as much.

He liked everything Peter did. Even all his stupid quirks and weird hang-ups and the dumb jokes that still made Johnny laugh, even in the middle of sex. He thought about the intensity in his eyes, the strangely sweet kisses, how he always seemed to know what Johnny wanted. He fixed all of that in his mind and rolled onto his side, clutching a pillow tight, and let exhaustion claim him.

 

+

 

Johnny managed a whole twelve hours before he finally reached the point of desperation for any sort of distraction. He would take Galactus coming back for a snack, Annihilus showing up with a horde, or even Paste Pot Pete sticking up a bank if it meant something would happen. Maybe not Doctor Doom because he wasn’t really prepared to deal with the drama, but anything else. Something to keep his mind from going in the direction he’d been trying to keep it from for the past two days.

Not even watching Franklin — normally a job that could probably keep three people occupied — had helped. His nephew had spent the majority of his non-study time in the evening playing with Spider-Man and Human Torch action figures on the living room floor, which had led to yet another line of thought he would have done well not to tread. Even after an entire year of nothing, his nephew was still the web-head’s biggest fan. Johnny watched him run around the room, holding the action figures aloft as though they were chasing each other, and sighed.

“I haven’t seen anything like the radiation readings we got except in that one paper,” Reed said, striding into the living room with Sue next to him at around eight o’clock. Their faces were serious, like they always got when they were talking about science or work — which was often the same thing. “And all our data so far is very concerning, to say the least. Johnny.”

“Reed,” Johnny returned just as solemnly, watching his brother-in-law absently scoop Franklin up. “What are you two talking about?”

“The portal from the other day,” Sue said, nudging his leg to make room for her on the sofa. Johnny’s stomach turned at the mention of the very thing he’d been hoping to forget. “Reed says he’s found someone who might possibly know something about it.”

“I found his name, Sue,” Reed said, taking the Spider-Man action figure and waving it around the room with his elongated arm, to Franklin’s delight. “The man himself is proving difficult. Which is a terrible shame since he’s the only one who’s studied the same type of radiation emanating from the portal.”

“Does it really matter?” Johnny asked. “That one we went through— _tried_ to go through—led nowhere and did nothing and disappeared on its own after a few hours.”

“It may have appeared harmless, but we don’t really know for sure,” Sue pointed out. “And even if they are truly harmless  _now_ , it doesn’t mean they always will be.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Reed sighed. “And we won’t know more unless another one appears.”

Johnny swallowed. “ _If_ another one appears. There’s nothing we can do but wait for another report, anyway.”

Reed frowned at him. “That’s not true. We may not know how to open a portal ourselves but there’s always _something_ we can do.” He stood up and deposited Franklin in Sue’s lap.

“Where are you going?” Sue asked, alarmed.

“To the lab, darling. To try to come up with a few ideas. Well, I already have a _few_ but I shall need to work out the details…” His voice drifted, along with the rest of him, out of the room.

Sue turned and scowled at Johnny.

“What?”

“Nothing we can do. You just _had_ to say it like that.”

Johnny opened his mouth to defend himself but Sue talked right over him.

“Come along, Franklin. Let’s go find something to read in your room, okay? Something small and light so it won’t hurt much when I chuck it at Uncle Johnny’s head.”

“Can we read the dinosaur book?” Franklin asked as Sue led him away.

“The dinosaur book is three hundred pages long, sweetie.” She shot one last dirty look in Johnny’s direction. “It sounds perfect.”

Johnny slouched further into the sofa, alone once again. _Where the fuck was Ben when you needed someone to annoy?_ he wondered.

 _God, you’re so pathetic,_ Johnny thought, passing a hand across his eyes. _The famous Human Torch. Has no friends. Can’t have a lasting relationship. Isn’t good for much except for lighting birthday candles and barbecues._

A part of him insisted that it wasn’t true. That there were people who would be happy to hear from him — he had a mile-long contact list to show for it, didn’t he?

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through it, only to realize he couldn’t even remember who half of them were and he didn’t want to hang out with most of the rest.  The ones he _did_ like were often busy — with real jobs and commitments and responsibilities — and Johnny was tired of hearing “I’m sorry” so many times. Besides, if he hadn’t heard from them in so long, then didn’t it mean they didn’t want to hear from _him_ , either?

_But still— Maybe this time—_

His finger scrolled and hovered, scrolled and hovered, until he finally threw the phone down onto the carpet.

He dug the heels of his palms against his closed eyes. _Just get up, Johnny. Get off your ass and_ do _something. Work in the garage that you’ve ignored for the last three months. Call your agent. Sign up for a race and wreck a car. Anything._

He needed to do something besides sit and think about the strange dark portal that had occupied his thoughts since the day they’d stumbled out of it.

Johnny could still remember what it had been like in there. He had felt oddly formless, an impression only reinforced by his inability to see even himself and the lack of any kind of response from his powers. There had just been a cold, enveloping darkness that not even he could dispel.

None of his team had talked to him about their experience or their feelings while they’d been inside, but the others had returned from the portal — well ahead of Johnny — and had carried on like normal.  None of them had looked like they’d felt what he’d felt. None of them had seemed taken over by the certainty that if they had stayed in that pitch black place for one minute longer, they would have either lost their mind or lost themselves.

None of them had probably thought that getting lost might not have been such a bad thing.

He’d tried not to entertain the thought, had tried to turn his mind aside, but now it was just there. He couldn’t make it go away and he couldn’t stop finding it appealing.  He might not have his powers in that uncanny void, but the cold would numb, and the darkness would swallow everything else.  There would be nothing. Perfect, endless _nothing_.

Johnny stared up at the ceiling for several long minutes before finally sitting up and dragging himself to the windows. He threw one open and breathed in. It was a nice night for flying. The skies were clear and the wind hit him in the face, bracing. He gazed thoughtfully down at the city and thought, _What the hell._ He flew out, traced a flaming spider and the words “the usual place” before he could even have second thoughts, and sped out to the Statue of Liberty.

Sitting on the crown, he thought about what he would do when Spider-Man came back. Hug him? Forgive him? Set his tights on fire? Hate him? No. He could never hate Spidey, could he?

Johnny drew his knees up under his chin, watching the sky change its skin, the stars and the moon inching across the deep blue. He was glad he never felt cold now.  He could wait all night.

It wouldn’t even be the first time.

 

+

 

No one else was home when he got back the following morning. There were just notes on the fridge about how Reed, Sue and Franklin had gone to a museum and would be out for most of the day, and Ben had gone to see Alicia _again_.

Johnny’s spirits, already unbearably low, dropped even further at the prospect of being alone.

He stood in the kitchen for a moment, wondering what he should do. _Keep both hands and mind occupied,_ he thought, and turned around and headed for the garage.

It had been a while since he’d worked on his cars, and probably even longer since he’d actually used one of them and gone for a drive. Recently, it had all seemed like too much effort for an old hobby that held no meaning for someone who could fly.

Johnny hesitated, eyeing the workbench and the toolbox. He was still trying to summon the energy when the security alarms went off.

 _Finally, thank_ God _. Something’s happening,_ he thought, and scrambled to check it out.

The alarm had been tripped in one of the labs, according to Reed’s monitors, and Johnny approached cautiously. There was no sign of anyone inside, as far as he could tell from a glance through the doorway, but Reed had so much equipment in there to hide behind (or in).

“Anyone in here?” he called, walking in, careful to look in all directions, including the ceiling. “You picked the wrong place to break into, buddy. This is no luxury penthouse apartment. Just...boring old scientific equipment. Probably worth a fortune but not something you can—” He rounded a corner past a giant refrigeration unit and stopped dead. “—carry with you,” he finished weakly.

There was a black hole slightly wider than his height in diameter in the back of Reed’s lab, just like the one that had appeared in Chelsea that they had been called to investigate several days before. The _very_ same thing he’d been trying not to think about, and Reed had one right in his lab.

For a moment, he felt a hot rush of anger. Reed knew nothing about the portals and very little about the mysterious force, and yet he had created one and just left it wide open. But the more he thought about it and the more he looked at the device built into the floor above which the portal was hovering, the more he thought this was something else. The device itself hadn’t been hooked up to a large enough power supply that could sustain the energy required to generate something seething with so much radiation.

 _“We may not know how to open a portal ourselves but there’s always_ something _we can do.”_

Maybe Reed hadn’t opened one. Instead, he had drawn one here.

Johnny knew he should wait for the others. That the alarm going off had probably alerted Reed of this very occurence through his phone. Yet he couldn’t help but think of the cold and the dark. Of the nothingness. Of being lost. Of being free.

He could come back. He had the last time, hadn’t he? He could come back if— _when_ he wanted to.

Johnny bit his lip, looked around one more time, and stepped into the black.

 

+

 

He stepped out onto gray.  Onto hard tiles that he could _feel_ , in a place that smelled familiar, even if the shape of it was not.

 _This_ wasn’t _what I signed up for,_ was his first thought. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all.  He was _somewhere._  Somewhere dimly lit, but it was a proper place, not some weird dark space where up or down or left or right didn’t exist.  

 _Of course,_ he thought, shoulders slumping in profound disappointment.  Nothing he ever did went right, after all.

He sighed, and the breath only let him draw in more of that familiar scent.  It tugged at his mind until he gave up and conjured a small ball of fire in his left hand.  This was definitely different from before, if his powers still worked, he thought, stepping forward and holding the flame aloft.

He was in some kind of bathroom, he realized, seeing the tiles and the glint of a showerhead, the gleam of a pristine white tub.  His hand hit a light switch he noticed on a wall and he quickly snuffed his little fireball.

The first thing he saw in the brighter light was that the bath was huge.  The tub could easily fit two people at once, and there wasn’t just the one showerhead but a row of three independently adjustable ones at different heights along the wall and a massive one overhead. Johnny, whose bath had been designed by Reed Richards himself, felt a twinge of envy.

He turned slowly, ignoring the wall that had been behind him which occupied completely by the portal, and drifted towards the open shelf by the sink.

The array of products in it looked familiar, too, and he racked his brain for where he could have seen them before.  The shampoo, the shaving cream, the aftershave—

It hit Johnny then.  Peter. Peter smelled like this when he’d just showered.  He had these same brands on his shelf. If he closed his eyes, he could swear he was in the familiar apartment, even though he wasn’t.  There was no way he could be mistaken. He knew the tiles in Peter’s place intimately, having been fucked against them more than once, and unless Peter had managed a rush renovation overnight and had grown several million dollars or so richer, this was somewhere else entirely.

Johnny knew he should turn back.  Go back home, stand watch over the portal, and wait for Reed. But his curiosity begged him to stay.  He wanted to see what he would find here. _Who_ he would find here.

He went to the door and threw it open.

He was still in the Baxter Building.  Not that the room he was in was familiar or anything—it wasn’t at all. At least, not on the _inside_.  He drifted to a bank of windows across what seemed to be the world’s most boring bedroom, towards a view that was both familiar and somehow not. At first glance, it looked like New York as he knew it out there, but closer inspection revealed that many of the buildings were not _exactly_ the same. In some cases, it was just a matter of paint or differences in the ads plastered all over them. But in a few places, the shape of the skyline was completely wrong.

Johnny didn’t know how long he stood there, watching the clouds drift and the light change.  But eventually somewhere behind him the door to the bedroom opened, and he spun around and found exactly who he expected there.

It was Peter.  At least, it was _recognizably_ Peter.  Just like the view of the New York skyline, he was the same, but different.

He froze for a second, seeing Johnny, before coming the rest of the way in with a sigh.  His shirt was wrinkled, Johnny noticed, and buttoned crookedly, haphazardly tucked into his slacks.  But the most alarming difference in his appearance was the large purple bruise on his right cheek.

Peter tossed a briefcase onto the bed.  “Johnny. I guess I should be grateful you’re not lying naked in my bed this time.  What do you want?”

Johnny blinked at him. They knew each other and Peter was not only taking the fact that Johnny showed up in his bed naked for granted, but he also sounded sick of it.  Had he somehow traveled to the future?

Johnny’s chest ached at the thought.

“Hey.  Flamebrain.  You in there?” Peter asked, suddenly in front of him, and Johnny must have spaced out to miss seeing him move closer.  He didn’t sound irritated now. There was the familiar wrinkle of concern on his brow and the hint of affection in his voice that Johnny always pretended he couldn’t hear.  Up close, he seemed a little bit older than his—not that he was actually _his_ —Peter. “Johnny?”

Johnny suppressed a shudder at the timbre of his voice—low and intimate.  If he kissed Peter here, would it be welcome? The thought was fully formed before he could stop it.

Peter moved closer, cautiously eyeing Johnny’s face and body. “Are you hurt?”

“No. But  _you_ are,” Johnny finally managed, his hand seeming to move of its own accord to touch Peter’s cheek just under the bruise.  “What happened to you?”

He looked surprised and then embarrassed.  He ducked his head, but not before Johnny could see his eyes soften.  “Come on. You’ve seen me with worse.”

Johnny’s fingers gently stroked the edge of the bruise, feeling sick to his stomach. Hurt worse than this? Why?

He pulled back from his touch and moved a few steps away, stretching his arms over his head.  “God, I ache all over,” he muttered, gazing out the window. “Is this what getting old feels like?”

“You’re not old, Peter.”

“Nah. Just beat up and tired.” He leaned one hand carelessly against the glass. “Still haven’t answered my question, hot stuff.  What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“ _Your_ bedroom?” Johnny echoed, unable to help himself, forgetting all of Reed’s rules in case of time travel or inter-universal travel or any kind of travel that crossed borders more significant than the New York state line.

“Yes, _my_ bedroom,” Peter said.  “Are we really going to have this argument again?  Because we still haven’t replaced everything we trashed during our last fight, and you’re not the one paying the bills here.”

Johnny stepped back. Everything they trashed?  Their last fight? Peter’s bruise and the casual shrugging off of his concern bothered him.  What kind of world was this, where Peter Parker was getting beaten up and taking it in stride? Where he and Johnny were destroying things during arguments?

Peter flicked a finger at his forehead and it hurt more than Johnny expected.

 _“Ow.”_ Johnny glowered.

“Stop spacing out on me, idiot.  You’re making me worry about you and you know I hate that.”

Johnny rubbed his forehead.  “Pete, I—” He stopped. “I should go.”

Peter grabbed him by the elbow as he brushed past.  “Okay...but mind telling me why you were even here in the first place?”

Johnny looked at him helplessly, realizing that he had very limited options here, especially since his way out and back home was in Peter’s _bathroom._

Peter jerked him suddenly closer, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing.  “You’re not Johnny Storm.”

Johnny bit his lip, stifling a gasp as Peter’s fingers squeezed his arm. “Pete. You might want to back off a little.”

“What are you? Skrull?  Chameleon? Shapeshifter?” he pressed, not letting up at all. There was something in his expression and stance that sent shivers down Johnny’s spine. This Peter Parker knew how to be menacing. This Peter could easily break him if he wanted. The thought flashed across his mind, utterly bizarre, and yet every instinct in his body screamed that it was true.

“I’m Johnny!” he shouted, gasping in pain as Peter kept on squeezing.  “I’m just...maybe not _your_ Johnny Storm.”

Peter frowned, searching his face, but eventually his grip loosened and his hand returned to his side. He would leave bruises—his fingerprints on Johnny’s skin—just as the other Peter often would, only in far more pleasant ways. “Explain.”

Johnny took a deep breath.  “Maybe I need to show rather than tell.”

 

+

 

“I have a gateway through the Darkforce dimension in my bathroom.  That’s _just_ what I needed,” Peter said sardonically, walking from one end of his bathroom to the other as he studied the opening Johnny had stepped out of.  He craned his neck and bent his head this way and that. “You know it completely absorbs energy? There’s not a hint of a reflection at any angle.  You could throw your biggest nova blast at it and it’s just going to eat all that energy up like it was nothing.”

Johnny blinked at the abrupt change in gear from cynical to excited. “Wait, back up.  Darkforce dimension? What’s that?”

“Uh...it’s a dimension...filled with the Darkforce?”

Johnny glared at him.

Peter spread his hands.  “Okay, I don’t know much about it.  It’s just this weird negative energy, right? Some people use it to teleport.  Like...a shortcut through the space-time continuum.”

“You’re sure that’s what this is?”

“No, but it gives me the same vibe as what’s under Cloak’s...cloak.”

“Cloak? Who?”

Peter glanced at him. “You guys don’t have Cloak back there?” He frowned.  “Then who made your portal?”

“I don’t know. Well, it might be Reed, but I don’t _think_ so?  It’s only the second time one’s appeared—that we know of, anyway.”

Peter stepped back.  “Hmm.”

“‘ _Hmm?’_  That’s all you have to say?”

“What, exactly, do you _want_ me to say?”

Johnny waved a hand impatiently.  “Look, just call Reed over or something.  He’ll know what to do.”

Peter blinked at him. “I can’t.”

Johnny frowned.  “Why not?”

Peter hesitated.

“Is Reed not home?”

He shook his head mutely, but Johnny didn’t fail to notice how, all of a sudden, Peter wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Where’s Sue? Ben?”

“Ben is...Ben’s around.  Not often, and he’s not that easy to get ahold of but...he’s around.”

Johnny didn’t miss how he’d completely avoided answering his questions about the other two.  He felt strange, and his vision was starting to go white around the edges. “Peter. Why do you have a bedroom in the Baxter Building?”

Peter’s answer was slow in coming, but he seemed to know he couldn’t completely avoid the issue anymore.  “Because I own it now, Johnny.”

Johnny was blinked.  The news itself was not surprising. There were many reasons why the Fantastic Four would not be in the Baxter Building.  How many times had they lost the place, only to get it back again later? It was home. It drew them, and it drew them _together_.

Johnny laughed. “What—Did Reed make a bad investment again? Did we move to Pier Four? Couldn’t you have just _let_ us stay here?”

The muscles on Peter’s face looked like they couldn’t figure out what expression they were supposed to go with and he just ended up with twitchy eyebrows, pursed lips, and a tic in his cheek. He took a deep breath. “Johnny.”

Something in his voice made him stop. “Pete?”

“Reed and Sue are not...they’re not here.”

The playful smile he’d been struggling to keep up vanished completely. “What do you mean? Where’s my sister?” he asked, voice sharp. “What does ‘here’ mean? Manhattan? New York?”

“The world,” he said quietly. “As far as we can tell.”

Johnny blinked at him. “As far as you can tell,” he echoed incredulously. “You’re not sure.”

“I’m not,” he admitted.  “No one actually knows if they’re—”

 _If they’re even alive,_ Johnny was sure he’d been about to say, catching himself at the last second.  “I— But I’m here. You… You weren’t surprised to see me.  This world’s me isn’t with them? _He_ doesn’t know where they are?”

Peter shook his head.

“I—I don’t get it. Why would they just up and leave me? What about Franklin?”

“The kids are gone, too.”

 _Kids._ God. Reed and Sue had plural. And they were all gone. A world without the Fantastic Four. Without his family.  Johnny closed his eyes, feeling like he’d been dropped into a nightmare. His breath rattled through his airways as he struggled not to choke on the lump in his throat.

It seemed like Johnny was always meant to be left behind, no matter what world he came from.

When he looked at Peter again, he was blurry, and Johnny realized that it was because he was crying like an idiot. Not for himself but for...well, maybe it _was_ for himself, in a manner of speaking. In his own world, he’d only lost Spider-Man. But here—Here, it was pretty much everyone.

“Hey. Hey,” Peter said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go sit down, okay?”

He shook his head.  “I should go home,” he said thickly. Home, where Reed and Sue and Franklin hadn’t left him. Not yet.  Despite his tears, he began to laugh.

“Johnny?” Peter asked.

“It’s just funny.  How everyone seems to leave me,” Johnny said, even though it wasn’t funny at all. “Like I can’t have everything I want.  There’s just always going to be someone missing. My team. My family. My stupid idiot best friend.”

“Best friend?”

Johnny made a face and wiped his cheeks with his palm. “Spider-Man.”  He paused, remembering something that had come up earlier, about someone this world had that Johnny’s didn’t.  What if _they_ didn’t have a Spider-Man here?  What if this Johnny Storm had no one at all?

He turned to Peter, his face so close now that he had an arm around Johnny.  “Do you… Is he… Does he even exist here?”

A peculiar expression crossed Peter’s face and his arm fell away.  Johnny felt oddly disappointed when he let go. “Yeah. Spider-Man’s around.”

“Is he…Is he friends with m— your Johnny Storm?”

“Best friends,” Peter said, suddenly subdued.  His eyes were cool. Careful. “Everyone knows that.”

Johnny reached out and clutched his arm.  “Where—Do you think I can see him?”

Peter looked down at his hand.  “I’m not sure. I’d have to call him, but—”

“No.  No, forget I said anything,” Johnny said quickly.  He wasn’t sure what would happen if he saw Spidey now.  He wasn’t sure what would happen when he had to say goodbye again.  “It’s—It’s probably not a good idea. It wouldn’t be enough.”

“What does that mean?”

Johnny opened his mouth, started to explain, then thought better of it.  His emotions were a churning mess as it was. If he had to start talking about Spider-Man’s disappearance, he would fall apart. “Nothing. Forget it,” he said again, offering Peter a watery smile.  “But hey. I got to see _you_ , and that’s something I didn’t expect at all. I didn’t think we’d know each other, in another world.”

“Didn’t you,” Peter murmured, staring at him.  The look in his eyes was incomprehensible.  “Do we still hate each other, where you’re from? Because you clearly know me.”

“We—We don’t hate each other.  But it’s...complicated.” As he said the words, a question popped into his head, and his smile faded.  “Why did you buy the Baxter Building, Peter?”

“I did it for you,” he said.  His response was immediate, and it sounded like a truth resting on the tip of his tongue had simply fallen without effort.

Johnny felt like Peter had reached into his chest and put a hand around his heart.  “I’m—I’m worth a billion dollars to you?”

“I mean, not _you_ ,” Peter hastily clarified.  “The FF. As a whole. All of you.  Just...to hold on to it and keep it from other people who don’t understand what it is.  And it’s not a _billion_ dollars, dummy.”

Johnny laughed.  Even though it seemed like Peter was still holding on tightly to his heart, he almost felt like he could float away.  “I’m worth a billion dollars _at least_ , and you know it.”

Peter’s mouth curved into a familiar crooked grin.  “Maybe. In some sad, crapsack world with horrible inflation.”

It was the smile that did him in.  Johnny didn’t know what it was about it.  Every time he saw it, it was like finding some precious, hidden treasure, tugging at his mind like a bad case of déjà vu.  On impulse, he put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck and kissed him—softly on the mouth, lips barely touching.  Peter stiffened, and then he was gently but firmly pushing Johnny away, hands on his upper arms.

Johnny blushed, embarrassed.  “Sorry. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“It’s fine.  I was just—surprised,” Peter said.  His hands stayed where they were, Johnny’s senses homing in on their weight and their warmth.  “And a little confused. Well— _plenty_ confused.”

Johnny frowned, trying to read his face.  He may as well have been wearing a mask, for all that it told him.  “You’re not...You and this world’s Johnny Storm—you’re not…”

“We’re not what?”

“You’re not... _sleeping together_?” Johnny asked under his breath.

Peter let go of him as if he were on fire.  “What?” he choked out. “We’re _friends_. Why would you—Oh my God.”

Johnny smirked and opened his mouth, intending to tease him.  But then the portal next to them crackled and, before he could move or even think, Peter had already slipped himself in the space between them.

“What’s happening?” he asked gruffly, watching as jagged white lines of energy, like small bolts of lightning, arced across the otherwise solid black.

Johnny frowned, yanking him back to a safer distance.  “I should go. I don’t really know how long this thing is going to stay open.”

“You came here without knowing that?” Peter demanded with an all-too-familiar note of exasperation.

Johnny groaned.  “Don’t start. If you give me a lecture, I might run out of time, so—I’ll just catch you on the other side.  Sort of.” He moved towards the suddenly seething portal, but Peter grabbed his hand before he could take one last step and disappear.

“Can you shut it down on your end, once you’re through?” Peter asked.

“Yeah...Maybe. But like I said, it’ll probably disappear on its own.”

“Do it anyway?  It’s not...It’s not safe to have one open for so long. It could grow out of control and trap people there.”

Johnny nodded, ignoring the sickening twist of his stomach.  “Okay.”

“Okay? You’re gonna do what I say?”

“Well—yeah. I trust you,” he said, and it was true.  Johnny gave his hand a squeeze and pulled away.  He paused, his back to the portal, and waved at his face, at the bruise rapidly blooming there.  “Hey. Before I go, tell me who did that to you.”

“It was Piledriver,” Peter said with a shrug.

Johnny’s brows snapped together. “Who—”

Peter rolled his eyes and pushed him, straight into the portal, and Johnny didn’t have time to even think about attempting to regain his balance, or flaming on to keep from falling.  In between one breath and the next, Johnny was there, and then he wasn’t.

 

+

 

Johnny felt hands on his shoulders, helping him sit upright on the floor.  Somewhere off to one side, he heard Reed shout.

“Shut us down now, Ben!”

Sue’s face swam into Johnny’s field of vision as Ben rushed past them.  “Johnny. Oh, Johnny,” she breathed. She put her arms around him and pulled him into an embrace just as the power went out, plunging them all into darkness.  “Don’t you _ever_ do that again.”

 

+

 

Johnny had been gone for two days.  Two whole days. He sat in the living room, staring blankly right ahead, and thought about Sue’s face.  Oh, she was furious now, pacing in front of Johnny’s seat in Reed’s lab, words clipped and voice strained as she struggled to keep it even.  Reed had restored power to the building five minutes ago, and Sue and Ben went right to chewing him out for what he had done. Johnny tuned them both out and just thought about that first moment, when he had come back, and his sister had been in tears.

He had never seen her like that before.

“...Really, Johnny.  Just explain to me. Just tell me what the _hell_ were you thinking?” Sue demanded for the nth time.  “Why would you do that? If Reed hadn’t been too curious to not let the portal collapse after only an hour— If I hadn’t thought to check the security footage to see how it had appeared— You could have been trapped in there! We could have lost you!”

Johnny blinked.  Lost him? That wasn’t right.  Johnny wasn’t the one people lost.  Because Johnny was the one who was supposed to get left behind.  He was the one who didn’t matter. The one they could do without.  He didn’t have an Alicia or a Franklin or a spouse. It was a massive cosmic joke, the most bitter irony, that he could lose, but he was never himself lost.  That was just how the world worked.

Ben’s footsteps thudded heavily on the carpet, and he gently nudged Sue aside to effortlessly pick up Johnny, hands on his upper arms, and shake him.  “Answer Susie, matchstick. Or did your brain finally melt inside that hot head of yours?”

Johnny looked him in the eye.   _You left me.  I was alone and I’d lost my sister and you left me._  “Put me down, you stupid pile of rocks,” he said, falling short of actually vitriolic. Johnny _wanted_ to be angry, but he also knew he should just be grateful and happy that they were still around for him to be angry _with_.  

In the end, however, he just felt hollow.

Ben hesitated.  “What’s wrong with you?”

Flames began to lick up and down Johnny’s arms, sparks igniting in his hair.  “You wanna go? ‘Cause I can. Give me your best shot, big guy. Come on—”

“That’s enough,” Reed said firmly from somewhere in the periphery.  He’d been silent right up until that moment. “Put him down, Ben.”

Ben dropped him and Johnny’s fire went out.

He sat back down again.

“We couldn’t even go after you,” Sue said quietly.  “We wanted to so badly, but the portal was starting to blink out and it took so much work to keep it open. We had to shut down five city blocks to reroute power near the end. Ben was about to jump in when you—”

Johnny turned to Reed because it was easier to look at him than his sister.  “I found some stuff out about it. Not a lot but—”

“Who cares about the damn portal?” Ben growled.

Sue put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Okay, Johnny,” Reed said, shooting the others a warning glance.  “Tell us what you learned.”

Johnny told them about how it was different from the first time, about the other Baxter Building, and the little that Peter had told him about the Darkforce dimension. There wasn’t much, after he’d edited out everything else.  The rest just felt too personal.

“Who told you all those things, Johnny?” Sue frowned once he’d finished.  “You mentioned the Baxter Building. Was it another Reed?”

He hesitated.

“Now, Sue,” Reed chided.  “It’s enough that Johnny went and made his presence known over there, we really shouldn’t be interfering with the space-time continuum much more.”

Sue didn’t look like she could give a shit about the space-time continuum, but Reed was either oblivious or pretending to be.

“It’s someone we can trust, that’s all you need to know,” Johnny said.  “Look...I haven’t slept since last night—I mean, the other night—Two nights ago—You know what I mean.”

“Go to your room,” Sue said, and turned away.  “I’ll ask Franklin to bring you some food later.”

“I’m really not—”

Reed’s hand was on his shoulder, stretched halfway across the room.  “Johnny.”

He took a deep breath.  “Okay. Okay, thank you,” he said, and retreated to his room.  He flung himself into his bed, fully prepared to face his thoughts again.  But then the back of his head touched the pillow, and Johnny promptly passed out.

 

+

 

He woke up  an hour later to a small hand on his shoulder shaking him, and to the aroma of grilled cheese.  For a moment he was back home, when home hadn’t been the Baxter Building, and the only food Sue knew how to make were grilled cheese sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs.  Her repertoire hadn’t expanded much since then.

Johnny slowly opened his eyes and found himself peering into Franklin’s, which lit up when he woke. He cleared his throat. “Hey, buddy.”

“Uncle Johnny. I brought sandwiches,” he said proudly, pointing at the plate by Johnny’s knee.

Johnny forced a grin.  He loved his nephew more than his own life, but not even the sight of him could make a smile appear naturally.  “I noticed. They smell great. Did you help?”

“I set the timer.  Uncle Ben said Mom and Dad are still not allowed.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows.

“They burned my sandwiches yesterday,” Franklin explained.

Johnny winced internally.  They had been too preoccupied with getting him home, that was why.  “I’ll make you pancakes this weekend to make up for it, okay?”

“ _Are_ you going to be here this weekend?” Franklin asked skeptically, like a pinprick to the heart.

“Nothing is more important,” he said solemnly.  He tried for another smile and picked up the plate of sandwiches.  “Thanks.”

Franklin gave him a hug, catching him by surprise, and scrambled off the bed before he could even return it.

The door closed behind him and Johnny stared down at his food.

He had absolutely no appetite, but he forced himself to nibble a sandwich down to half, setting the plate and what remained on his nightstand.

 _Why can’t I quit feeling like crap?_  he thought. He curled up into a ball and spent the next few hours trying to fall back asleep, but his mind seemed refreshed after his one-hour nap and was determined to stay awake, his thoughts going round and round in circles in his head.  This world without Spider-Man. That other world without his family. Peter Parker somehow being in both.

Johnny picked up his phone and sat up.  He found his conversation with Peter on top of the list and bit his lip, realizing that his last text had just been about hooking up. Johnny had wanted to see him for purely selfish reasons. Just a diversion. Something pleasant to pass the time. A small part of him felt a little bit guilty about it, after seeing what the other Peter had done for his Johnny Storm. But a louder part, a selfish part, reminded him that Peter knew what he was ostensibly for, and he wasn’t complaining.

It wasn’t as though Johnny was just using him.  Their arrangement was mutually beneficial.  They both got mind-blowing sex out of it and no one was getting hurt.

He put the phone up closer to his face, started to type, then changed his mind.

He hit the call button instead.

Peter answered six rings in, just when Johnny had been about to hang up, and his voice sounded rough. “Johnny?”

He looked hastily at his bedside clock and saw that it was past eleven. Peter had probably been asleep.

“I didn’t realize the time,” Johnny said. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Don’t,” Peter groaned. “You woke me up already. And I should thank you, anyway.”

“Thank me?”

There was a pause, and Johnny finally noticed that he was breathing slightly more heavily than normal. “I was having a bad dream,” he explained.

“Oh.”

“What’s up?”

Johnny stared at the wall. _I wanted to hear your voice_ sounded too romantic for what they were. _I was bored_ was the sort of thing people hung up on you for.  

_In another world, you were there._

But that would make no sense to him at all.

“Johnny?”

“Can I come over?” he said instead, and immediately felt like an asshole. “No, wait—I’m already bugging you enough—”

“I’ll put on some coffee,” Peter said through a yawn. “And that means yes, by the way.”

Johnny flew. He took the long way around the island, not wanting to seem overeager, but also to give himself the time and the opportunity to turn back. He didn’t, of course, and five minutes later he found himself staring down at Peter—apparently unconscious—face-down and shirtless on his couch. There were two mugs of coffee on the table, one empty and the other full and still warm.

Peter opened one eye before Johnny could even clear his throat.  “Hey, Torchie.”

“You left a window wide open.”

“Never know when a pretty flaming man might need to let himself in.”

Johnny sank into a nearby chair. “Thanks. You look like shit, by the way,” he said, and reached for the full mug.  In spite of everything, it was easy to lapse into their normal banter, for which he was grateful.

“You’re such a sweet talker. Look at how that’s making me drop my pants,” Peter mumbled, not moving an inch, pants firmly staying on.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said, finally pushing himself up and into a slouch. “I just, you know, I had a nightmare.”

“Again? Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even want to think about it. Anyway, what about you? What’s _your_ story, hot stuff?”

 _Oh, nothing interesting. I just found out that somewhere out there is a universe where I’ve lost nearly everything._ Johnny stared down into his coffee, his reflection in it rippling slightly as he breathed.  Was he supposed to feel lucky in comparison? Was he supposed to say “Oh, I lost the man I was in love with but at least I don’t have it as bad as that other guy”? Because he still felt like shit and he couldn’t stop.  He didn’t know how to stop. In fact, he felt _worse_ .  Because if _one_ Johnny Storm could lose the family he cared so much about, the family that was all he had, then—

He glanced up, shying away from the obvious conclusion.  Peter was still patiently waiting for an answer, head tilted curiously to one side.  He shrugged. “I’m just restless, I guess.”

Peter blinked.  “Right...You wanna—you know—?” He made a vague, sweeping gesture at his lap.

“Wow. Subtle.”

“It’s not any more shameless than you calling me and asking to come over.  Anyway, we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Peter said. “It’s just that—it’s usually what you _do_ want.”

He’d _thought_ he wanted it, coming here.  He’d thought he wanted Peter to do what he did best—to drive all thoughts from Johnny’s mind and replace them with desire.  To make him forget, just for a moment, how everything could so abruptly vanish. Now that he was here, he didn’t want those things anymore, but he didn’t want to leave, either.  He carefully set his mug down. “Can we—Can we just go to bed and take it from there?”

Peter blinked. “Yeah…We can do that.”

It was a little bit weird, settling under the covers, in Peter’s bed, fully clothed for the first time.

Johnny stared at him, lying on his side. “Kinda stupid of us to drink coffee this late, though.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Johnny frowned. “What is it?”

“It was decaf. It was the only kind I had.”

“You are the literal worst.”

Peter laughed. Johnny liked the way his nose crinkled when he laughed, so he kissed him. Which led to more kissing. And more than kissing, until Johnny pulled away with his lips tingling. His heart felt heavy with the weight of a feeling he could not name.

Peter rolled him onto his back and looked down at him, questioning.

Johnny reached up to touch his face, feeling his unblemished cheek where the other Peter’s bruise had been. _This isn’t yours,_ Johnny reminded himself when Peter kissed him again, careful and tender, as if he were some delicate thing. _This doesn’t belong to you._ He shouldn’t forget that. It was important. After all, he couldn’t lose something that wasn’t his.

“You okay?” Peter murmured resting his forehead against Johnny’s, catching his breath. His eyes were half-shut and their noses brushed. His lips ghosted over Johnny’s as he spoke.

“M’fine. Just...maybe sleepy, finally.”

“You wanna go home or…?”

Johnny hesitated, feeling like he was standing on a thin line. One more step and he would be out of bounds. But the thought of going home to his empty bed and all of his thoughts was too awful to contemplate compared to this.

“Can I stay? Even if—Even if we _don’t_ have sex?”

Peter frowned and Johnny averted his eyes, fearful that he would say no. “Yeah,” he breathed, and Johnny felt a frisson of relief. “Of course.”  He rolled onto his side, taking Johnny with him.

He inhaled deeply when Peter gathered him close, his familiar scent setting him at ease. Their legs tangled together, and Peter’s hand ran comfortingly up and down his back.

Johnny pressed his face against Peter’s throat and slept like the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I meant to update weekly but real life has been kicking my ass so we’re going to stick with this every-other-week schedule for a while. Thanks for all the comments and support here and on Twitter!


	6. Chapter 6

“...And then we’re going to hire six wombats to join R&D and three ferrets in accounting. How does that sound, Peter?”

Peter stared out the window of his office, gnawing on the knuckle of his right index finger. “Sounds great, Anna Maria.”

He heard her sigh, saw her roll her eyes in his peripheral vision. “Tell me when, exactly, you stopped listening so I won’t have to repeat everything.”

“Probably when you mentioned buying a jello pool for the break room. I _am_ pretty sure I got the gist about the problems with the power source prototypes for Reed failing to meet targets.”

Anna Maria crossed her arms. “Okay, fine. You _were_ listening. But I can tell when you’re distracted.”

He waved a hand. “Look, it’s a manufacturing limitation, not a design problem. I’ll think about it.”

“I wish I could disagree with that but the design _is_ —”

“Flawless.”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” she grumbled. “I was going to say _sound_.”

“Perfect.”

“Don’t twist your arm patting yourself on the back.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you thinking of a certain blond?”

“No,” he lied. He had, of course, been thinking about Johnny. He had been fast asleep when Peter had left earlier that morning. He wondered if Johnny was still in his bed at that moment.

Anna Maria slid out of her chair. “I’m gonna leave now so you can brood about your pretty boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Peter said for the nth time.

“I believe you,” she said sarcastically, on her way out the door.

Peter immediately planted his face on his desk as soon as she was gone. He hadn’t slept a wink after the nightmare, too perplexed by Johnny coming over just so he could pass out in his arms. Just what the fuck was Peter supposed to make of that?

He was still turning that over in his head when his phone went off with a text notification. He picked it up absently then almost immediately dropped it.

It was a message from Johnny. No words, just a picture of him in Peter’s bed, shirt rucked up to reveal his toned stomach, his face above his smug smirk cut off.

A bubble popped up.

_I heard you like pretty pictures_

Peter had a very bad feeling about this.

Two minutes later, another photo arrived. This time his shirt was gone completely, and his pants were much lower than before. Johnny’s free hand lay low on his belly, fingers splayed over a narrow trail of light blond hair.

_Johnny Storm is going to kill me._

A new message arrived and this one—There was no way to pass this off as playful or innocent and was fully in the realm of absolutely not safe for work, with his pants and his boxers pulled down so low, Peter could see the tip of his half hard cock.

There was a cursory knock on his door and Harry walked right in. Peter briefly contemplated spontaneously dying. Instead, he chucked his phone into a drawer and slammed it shut.

“Uh...What was that?” Harry asked.

“Nothing. Just some stupid prank texts. What’s going on?”

Harry hesitated. “Listen. There’s, uh, something I need to give you.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up.

Harry produced a box from his behind his back.

Peter blinked. “Yes, Harry. I _will_ marry you.”

“Shut up,” he muttered. “It’s from my dad.”

It took all he had not to visibly recoil.

“It’s—It’s a watch,” Harry went on. “Look, he gave me one, too.” He held out his wrist.

“You’re his son.”

“No. It’s—It’s like when you give your friends a housewarming gift, you know? Except it’s for corporate executives who just launched a business.”

Peter looked up at him.

“I know how you feel about expensive gifts,” Harry said. “But this is who you are now. No one’s going to get you a pair of socks for Christmas. It’s rare expensive wines, exclusive swag, gold tie pins and watches. Think of it this way: now you don’t have to buy frivolous things. Other people with a crapton of money will buy them for you.”

Peter took the box and set it down on the table. He didn’t really have to ever wear it, did he? “Tell Norman I said thank you.”

Harry looked only partially relieved. “You can tell him yourself. By wearing it. At the dinner he invited us to.”

“What?”

“Oscorp’s awarding some grants and scholarships,” Harry said. “It’s a whole ceremony. We should go. It’s for a good cause and it’d be great for PR.”

Harry knew him too well and was addressing every possible point of protest before he could utter them. “Okay. Text me when and where so I can add a reminder.”

“I already put it on your calendar,” Harry said blithely.

Peter threw up his hands. “Of course, you did.”

“Hey,” Harry said suddenly, his tone abruptly shifting. “If that _had_ been a ring, _would_ you marry me?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“And you’ll just keep the blond harlot you’ve been sexting on the side?”

Peter sputtered.

Harry snickered. “You make it too easy, Pete.” He started to walk away. “Should I lock the door on my way out?”

“I’m _working_.”

It was difficult, and incredibly tempting, but Peter valiantly resisted opening his drawer. He had to go out just to borrow a pen from Anna Maria, but he succeeded until around lunch time, when curiosity about how far Johnny would take it finally won.

To his disappointment, Johnny’s next text had been just that: text. Of the extremely unsexy kind.

_reed wants to know if u can show him the schematics 4 the battery again before he signs off on the licensing thing_

Peter frowned and texted back, _Sure. Ask him when he wants me to come over._

He had just put his phone down to go back to work when it _rang_.

“Hel—”

“So that’s how it is, huh?” Johnny asked, offended tone laced with laughter. “Ignore _me_ but fall all over yourself when it’s _Reed_ demanding your attention? Should I be jealous? Should I warn Sue? They’re married, you know. You should be ashamed.”

Peter groaned and dropped his forehead onto his desk. “I was busy with work.”

“Well, obviously you aren’t anymore. What gives, man? Do you need more?”

“ _No,_ thank you. I need to actually get things done.”

There was a pause, and rustling, and Johnny’s voice dropping several notches in both pitch and volume. “I can give you more.”

“Johnny, this isn’t the time.”

“You’re no fun when you’re like this, Parker. But okay. No phone sex. I’ll talk to you later.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Does Reed even want to see me?”

“No idea,” Johnny said impishly and hung up.

Peter stared at his phone. Hanging out with Johnny Storm had _definitely_ shortened his life span. He turned back to his computer, forcing himself to concentrate, and even managed to get an hour of solid work done before his phone went off again.

It was a video this time, and Peter knew from the thumbnail of Johnny’s sly grin that it was going to send him into orbit.

Against his better judgment, he gingerly pressed play.

Johnny was still in his apartment, still in his bed, but he’d apparently found an old tripod Peter remembered sticking in a cabinet with a bunch of umbrellas, clamped his phone in place, and hit record. What Peter was seeing appeared to be a short clip from a much longer video, and it started with Johnny writhing on the bed, thrusting his cock into his fist as he moaned Peter’s name.

Even by himself, even with no one to see, Peter felt weirdly embarrassed at being someone’s wank material.

Johnny turned to the camera to one side of the bed. “This would be _so_ much better with you inside me, but too bad. You gotta be mature and responsible,” he said breathlessly, hips straining upward to meet his strokes. His cheeks and chest were a pretty pink, his dewy lips parted.  Peter had no idea how long he'd been working himself up, but in a minute, he was coming in short, thick bursts, painting his own stomach and chest white. He lay still for a moment, catching his breath, and sat up and removed his phone from the tripod.

“Hurry home, Pete,” he said into the screen.  His blue eyes burned like stars. He winked once, turning on his signature playful charm, and the screen went black.

Peter looked at his phone in disbelief.  What did he ever do in his life to deserve this cruel and unusual punishment?

Another bubble appeared, with a picture attached: Johnny’s face, still flushed, eyes hooded and hot with lust.

 _another picture for your creepy collection,_ the message that followed read.

Peter exited from the conversation entirely and buried his face in his hands in frustration. It wasn’t even the fun kind of frustration for which there was obvious relief—although there was _that_ , too.  He grimaced and shifted in his seat, adjusting himself in his pants and willing his hard-on to go down.

The real problem was that Johnny was confusing him.  When had that line Johnny himself had drawn started to blur, he wondered.  He’d always said it was supposed to be fun, and the sex _was_ fun. It was everything else that wasn’t.  

Because every time he was around Johnny Storm it was as if his heart were on the verge of exploding. There was nothing fun in the way that felt, not when he was explicitly not allowed to do anything about it.

_“Do you need more?”_

Peter leaned back in his chair and tried not to think about how his idea of more and Johnny’s seemed to be entirely different things.

 

+

 

Johnny was curled up on the sofa when Peter got home, wearing one of his sweatpants and an old ESU hoodie. Peter knew he shouldn’t be surprised to see him, after that ending to the video he’d sent, but he was.

Johnny sat up as he approached, his face lighting up. “Pete.”

“Johnny. Hey.” He hesitated. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think you’d actually still be... _here_.”

His expression dimmed, the smile that was just beginning abruptly disappearing. “Did you want me to leave? Oh, God. I invited myself over last night and I just stayed and I helped myself to your stuff and I drank all your soda and I jacked off in your bed—”

“Stop.”

Johnny shut up.

“Wait, you drank _all_ my soda?”

“I can go.”

“Don’t,” Peter sighed, flinging himself onto the couch.

Johnny looked down at him uncertainly, fingers pulling on the ends of the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie.

Peter blinked up at him. “Sit down.”

Johnny sat.

“Were you here all day?”

“I spent most of it sleeping.”

“And sexting me.”

“Pretty much.”

“Again, don’t take this the wrong way, but why didn’t you go home?”

Johnny waved a hand carelessly. “I was really hoping you’d come home early,” he said instead, ignoring the question.

Peter wasn’t very good at reading other people most of the time, but even he could tell there was something bothering Johnny. He wondered what it was that he didn’t want to think about this time.

“Peter?” Johnny began to fidget, made anxious by his long silence “If you want me to leave, I will.”

Peter wanted Johnny to stay. That was the problem. “You can stay on one condition.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Just how kinky is this condition gonna be?”

“That’s not what I had in mind, smartass.”

“Really. What is it, then?”

“Let’s start with you telling me what’s wrong.”

His expression instantly changed, all traces of humor wiped away to be replaced by a flash of something Peter couldn’t quite place before settling into carefully neutral. “You don’t want to hear about boring shit, Peter.”

“Maybe I do.”

His eyes grew guarded.  “If you want me to leave, you can just tell me.”

“I don’t want you to leave.  But last night...You had me worried for a bit there.”

“Look, it was nothing. We had an FF emergency. You know the deal. Crazy science. Weird villains. The world being threatened, stuff like that,” Johnny shrugged, clearly trying to seem casual. “I was exhausted.  I didn’t actually come over just to fall asleep on you and I’m sorry about that.”

Peter eyed him shrewdly.  “That bad, huh?”

“What?”

“The threat.  It was that bad?  But you guys all took care of it, right?”

Johnny blinked several times. “Uh, yeah.  It wasn’t a big deal. Everything—Everything’s fine.”

“You saved the world.”

“All in a day’s work.”

Peter shook his head.  “Come on. Can’t fool me.  I know about all that shit—I’ve lived in New York all my life.  It must have been pretty bad. No one gives you guys enough credit for all the problems you fix before the rest of us ever even manage to notice, and when none of you even wants to talk about it — it was probably a doozy.”

“I—Well, it was a little bit.”

Peter tugged him over, Johnny half-falling across the space between them until Peter shifted his legs up onto the couch, and Johnny fell into him instead.  “Seems to me you deserve a little something for your efforts,” he murmured.

“Well, I wouldn’t—”

Peter kissed him.  There was a moment of hesitation, when it felt like Johnny was about to push himself away.  But then he melted against him, warm hands sliding under Peter’s collar to fit where his neck curved into his shoulders, one thumb pressed up against his pulse.  Surely, Peter thought, Johnny could feel the wild beating of his heart.

He pulled away after a moment, studying Johnny’s face, his parted lips and lustful expression. “How’s that for a reward?”

Johnny frowned, eyes coming back into focus and brow wrinkling adorably. “That’s it? I don’t even rate a blowjob?”

Peter snorted.  “Don’t push your luck, firefly.”

Johnny’s expression changed at the nickname, the lust coming back in full force. He ground down against him until they fit perfectly, hips against hips, belly to belly, and then Johnny was kissing him like it was more essential to life than breathing.

“Hey,” Peter said, alarmed by his hunger, Johnny biting down the side of his neck as he fumbled with Peter’s buttons. “Easy, Torchie.”

“Nope,” Johnny said against his mouth. “I’ve been waiting for you all day and I’m so done. Come on. Shirt off.”

Peter gave up and gave in, his shirt and Johnny’s hoodie landing on the floor in a heap.

Johnny eyed his abs. “God, I still can’t believe those are real.”

“What?”

“I don’t even think you go to the gym. Do you?”

“Harry makes me go with him once a week.”

“The world _so_ isn’t fair,” Johnny complained.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yours are fine.”

“Fine. Not precisely carved out of rock with the help of a caliper.”

“Will you just shut up about my abs and kiss me?”

Johnny threw his head back and sighed theatrically. “If I _have_ to.”

Peter yanked him forward and Johnny smiled against his lips, sinking easily into the kiss, mouth open and warm.  He thought about how Johnny had looked the night before—tired and miserable and lonely—and how Peter had been useless and unable to help change that. But now Johnny was laughing and smiling and bright. He slid his hands to Johnny's back, pressing against his spine, holding him as if he were something precious—and he was.

Maybe, Peter thought, this was all he could do—this was all he was good for.  But if he could make Johnny laugh, then maybe it was enough.

“I can feel you thinking too hard,” Johnny murmured when they pulled apart for breath. He bumped his forehead against Peter’s and reached up to touch his face, thumb brushing a spot just underneath his right cheekbone. He’d been fixated on it since the night before, and Peter couldn’t figure out why.

Peter looked up at him. “What do you want to do?”

“Me?” He bit his lip thoughtfully and hummed. “You know, for some reason, all I can think about right now is rubbing my cock against your stupidly perfect abs and coming all over them.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What is this obsession with random parts of my body?”

“Random? It’s the most attractive part of you besides your ass. It’s more attractive than your face. Although that’s a pretty low bar.”

“I hope you know that flattery will get you nowhere,” Peter said dryly.

“So can I?” Johnny asked hopefully, squeezing his shoulder.

“But then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s for you. What about me?”

Johnny pulled back further. “What do _you_ want?”

Half a dozen images immediately sprang to mind. He wanted a lot, apparently.

“Pete?”

“Why don’t we start with your thing and see where the night takes us?”

Johnny grinned at him. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a brilliant plan to me.”

 

+

 

Johnny was above him and touching his face again, his eyes fixed on the same spot on his cheek as his fingers. It was two hours later, half an hour after the pair of them had finally made it to Peter’s bed. He tried not to think about how many different pieces of furniture they’d managed to fuck on top of along the way and gently closed a hand around Johnny’s fingers, squeezing them. “What’s with this?”

Unexpectedly, Johnny blushed. “Nothing. I—You know I was just kidding, right?”

He cocked his head questioningly.

“About your face. It’s a nice face.”

“I know I’m not winning any beauty contests, I get it.”

“No, I mean it. I—I like it.”

“Are you _sure_ you're alright?”

Johnny frowned at him. “I mean it,” he said firmly. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said placatingly, pulling Johnny’s hand up and kissing his fingertips. “I believe you.”

Johnny relaxed, settling down against his chest, the top of his head tucked just under Peter’s chin and his blond hair tickling Peter’s cheek. One arm stole across Peter’s waist.

Peter recognized the feeling of his weight settling over him. Soon, Johnny would be dead to the world.

“Pete.”

“Yeah?”

The arm around his waist tightened. “Don’t go, okay?”

“I’m staying right here,” he promised, even though his arm was already growing numb.

Johnny fell fast asleep a few minutes later and Peter, lulled by the sound of his deep and steady breathing, quickly followed suit.

 

+

 

If he had been on the verge of tearing out all his hair from frustration before, it just became worse by a hundred times.

After two nights together, Johnny went back home. The text message that woke Peter up to an empty bed at dawn only read _thank you_ and nothing more.

It took him a while to realize that Johnny had even stolen his comfiest hoodie.

Peter stared at the text for the nth time. After Johnny’s warmth and presence the night before, lying in his large bed by himself felt lonelier than ever. _Thank you for what,_ he wondered. The sex? The companionship? The stolen hoodie? He wanted to ask. He wanted to know what had happened because something had felt different in the way Johnny had pressed himself close, the casual kissing that had led to nothing that first night, and the way Johnny’s face had lit up when he had come home.

Or was it all just wishful thinking and Peter was just imagining things?

He’d told himself over and over that he was fine with the way things were. He had tried to forget about all those weird dreams and strange flashes of false memories about hanging out on rooftops with Johnny. He had attempted to bury every single feeling that had nothing to do with sex deep down inside him. But none of that had worked.

He still wanted more. He still wanted too much.

It went beyond wanting to fuck Johnny, beyond gamely offering himself up as distraction and getting incredible sex out of it. The desire to make Johnny feel better, to see that strange air of melancholy he carried with him erased, eclipsed everything else. He would easily give up the ability to make Johnny come with Peter’s name on his lips for the ability to make him laugh and smile.

Peter put his phone down and fixed his gaze to the ceiling, finally willing to put a name to the feeling burning in his chest. For some reason beyond his understanding, he had fallen hopelessly, recklessly, and probably stupidly in love with Johnny Storm.

 

+

 

Admitting it to himself was oddly freeing, and Peter went to work feeling like he was floating. Not even the sight of Norman Osborn and his army of subordinates taking up one side of their conference room could bring him down.  He, Harry, Anna Maria, and their only two lawyers almost looked out of place in their own space, outnumbered as they were, but Peter shrugged it off.

They had all studied the lease agreement forwards and backwards, and all of their own stipulations and edits had been taken on without comment from Norman’s end, which was surprising.  Or, Peter thought, watching Norman’s indulgent smile as Harry signed above his name, perhaps not. Perhaps he _was_ being unreasonably suspicious.  Perhaps Norman just wanted to help out his son.

Peter took the document from Harry and signed over his own name.  They signed Norman’s copy and Norman signed theirs and, just like that, they had themselves a building.

Within five minutes, Peter was standing with Harry by the door and watching everyone else file past, until it was just them and Norman left.  Peter had grown accustomed to the tension headache Norman always brought with him by now. It was more of a dull throb today than actual screaming pain, for which he was grateful.

Norman clasped Harry’s arm with a smile.  “Well, congratulations. Now you can accomplish so much more with your little company.”

Something about the way he said “little” seemed designed to offend, but neither of them took the bait.

“Thanks, Dad,” Harry said.  “We’ve already got all sorts of plans and projects.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Norman said, giving his upper arm a squeeze.  “I must say, it is truly impressive what you’ve accomplished together, especially now that Mr. Parker has finally hit his stride.  Finally learned to stop wasting his time running after the caped crowd and put that supposed genius to use, eh?”

“Dad, you’re not going to give him shit for his old gig again, are you?  He was a great photographer.”

“Was he?” Norman asked carelessly, looking uninterested.

“As if you didn’t have a pile of clippings of his photos.  You even have his book,” Harry snorted.

Peter blinked at Norman in surprise and was even more shocked to see that the other man seemed suddenly annoyed.  He would have expected embarrassment at being called out for being a fan of either Peter or Spider-Man, but his expression bordered on barely contained anger.

“Yes, well.  Call it a professional interest,” Norman snapped.

Peter’s eyebrows rose slightly.  Professional?

“So was Pete’s,” Harry said loyally. Peter was starting to feel like he’d died, with the way they were talking about him as if he weren't standing right there.

Norman actually rolled his eyes.  But he pasted a smile on his face and held his hand out to shake.  “Hardly matters now. Good luck with all those projects, Parker.”

Peter shook his hand firmly, not wanting to give him something else to attempt to belittle them with.

“You don’t want to stick around for lunch?” Harry frowned.  “I told you I made reservations—”

“Change of plans, son,” Norman said, giving his shoulder a heavy pat. “Doctor’s appointment.”

“Doctor—Everything okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Norman said, waving his hand.  “Just the regular check-up. I’ll see you both at the foundation dinner,” he said, and sauntered off.

“What foundation dinner is he talking about?” Peter asked once he was out of earshot.

Harry blinked at him, only a little exasperated. “That thing I told you about when I gave you the watch?”

“Oh. That.”

Harry sighed.  “Listen, I have to run a few errands for Liz.  Do you think you can hold down the fort without me for the rest of the day?”

“Of course,” Peter said quickly.

Harry frowned at him. “On second thought, I should probably be asking Anna Maria.”

“Hey!”

Harry chuckled, backing away.  “No offense, Pete, but you get hyperfocused.  You probably wouldn’t even notice when the room you’re in is on fire, as long as you’re working on something.  Or if you’re sexting Johnny Storm.”

“Shut up,” Peter muttered, willing himself not to turn red, aware that half the staff in the immediate vicinity had perked up.  Going by how Harry’s chuckle morphed into full-blown laughter, he knew he’d failed.

Peter sighed and ducked back into his office, ready to drown himself in formulas and graphs again.  Trying not to think about Johnny Storm turned out to do wonders for his productivity, who would have thought?

 

+

 

_Hey, do you know that 24-hr diner five blocks east from Baxter? They make an excellent double cheeseburger._

Peter pressed send without reading the text over. It wasn’t an invitation. It wasn’t anything at all besides casual conversation. For the past few days, he had been working up the nerve to move past the sexting and the flirting and actually ask him out, but that was the closest he had managed so far.

His phone beeped a minute later and he turned away from his laptop, grateful for the distraction.

_its 430 in the morning pete_

Shit. He glanced at the clock on his phone. The last time he’d checked, it had read 8 p.m. He’d spent all night answering emails. No wonder his eyes felt like they were about to fall out of his head.

_I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ll let you go back to sleep. I probably shouldn’t even send this. I’ll stop bothering you now, I promise. Go back to sleep._

Peter had barely put the phone down when it started ringing.

“Hello?”

“Thirty minutes,” Johnny’s faint, sleep-softened voice said from the other end of the line.

“What?”

“Hey, you woke me up. At least buy me a cheeseburger to make up for it. You can afford that now, right?”

“I think I can still make rent, sure.”

“Thirty minutes.” He hung up.

Peter scrambled to the bath.

It took him fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and brush his teeth. He gave up on taming his hair without even trying and just ran his fingers through it and hoped for the best. He was desperately in need of a trim but just didn’t have the time.

_No time for a haircut but plenty of time to fuck around with and not-date a pretty blond._

Peter kicked the thought out of his head and hurried out of the apartment.

Johnny was already there, to his surprise, looking goddamn perfect, if a bit sleepy, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Sorry I took so long,” he said, taking the bench on the other side of the booth.

“You didn’t,” Johnny shrugged. He smiled. “It’s just I can fly.”

“Right.”

“I already ordered. Double cheeseburgers, right?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Peter said as a waitress came over.

“Coffee?”

He nodded absently, too distracted by the way Johnny was looking at him and his _foot_ at Peter’s ankle.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a strangled voice after the waitress had walked away.

Johnny grinned at him, free and easy, foot gliding further up his leg.

“It’s way, _way_ too early for this,” Peter said.

“Please tell me you don’t have a morning meeting.”

“Ten a.m.”

“Pity. But we can get a lot done in five hours.”

Peter frowned. It couldn’t be all Johnny wanted from him. He was almost sure of it.

Johnny looked him up and down, his forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “Did you sleep last night?”

“No. Do I look that bad?”

“Not _that_ bad. Just enough for me to want to make you take a nap. What were you doing?”

“Work. What else?”

“Could have been doing _me_ ,” Johnny said nonchalantly into his coffee, just as their burgers arrived.

The waitress almost tripped over herself.

“Can we _not_ talk about sex for like five minutes?” Peter asked once they were alone again, unable to keep from sounding annoyed.

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “What are we going to talk about, then?”

“I don’t know. Tell me about your last race. Or your newest car.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be interested, you know.”

“I’m not _pretending_ ,” Peter said.

Johnny stared at him, as if unsure what to make of him. “You really wanna know?”

_“Yes.”_

Johnny eyed him him for a few moments longer, thinking. When he finally started talking about a race months past, he spoke slowly, as if he were expecting Peter to tell him to shut up at any second. Except Peter didn’t, and soon there was a flood of words, and Johnny’s eyes shining in excitement, demonstrating a particularly hair-raising lap with the help of a couple of fries and a salt shaker.

And Peter was completely lost. He had a lot of pictures of Johnny by now but this—happy, passionate, genuinely excited Johnny—was something else entirely. Something else he’d never really seen.

Realizing he’d been talking for a while without interruption, Johnny stopped abruptly, eyes roaming Peter’s face. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“You haven’t said a word.”

“I’m _listening_.”

Johnny gasped. “You can do that?”

Peter flicked a fry at him and it landed right in the middle of Johnny’s forehead, bouncing off and onto his empty plate.

Johnny picked up the squeeze bottle of ketchup.

“Don’t you dare.”

Johnny dropped it, to his surprise.

“Get the bill, Pete,” he said quietly. “And come home with me?”

“I have a meeting. And I can’t miss it, as much as I would rather spend that time with you. I can’t let Harry down.”

Johnny’s expression grew soft. “It’s three whole hours away, Peter. And I’ll be careful. I won’t let you get in trouble.”

Peter could never say no. Not when Johnny was looking at him like he was the best thing he’d ever seen. He raised his hand and waved the waitress over, and three minutes later they were gone.

 

+

 

Johnny kissed him softly back in his room in the Baxter Building, slow and unhurried, like they suddenly had all the time in the world. He undressed Peter carefully, draping his clothes on the back of his desk chair, and laid him down in the middle of the bed.

Johnny climbed on top of him fully clothed.

“Uh…?”

Johnny leaned down and brushed his lips across Peter’s brow. “You’re so good to me, Peter. Let me be good for you. Please?”

Peter’s head was nodding before he could even think.

It was unexpected, Johnny’s mouth and fingers reverent on his skin, a slow exploration of every inch he could reach. Peter didn’t know where this was suddenly coming from. Why Johnny’s flame, always blazing and wild, had suddenly become tamed—licking up and down his body, warm without burning, bright but not blinding. The heat of his kisses left marks he couldn’t see, places that Peter wouldn’t so easily forget.

Johnny looked up at him, unmistakable heat in his gaze, his teeth sharp against his thigh. “Peter. Tell me how you want me.”

“Johnny.”

“Please.”

Peter let his head drop back down to the pillows, trying to corral his wildly flying thoughts. “Your face— I want—”

Johnny knew. Johnny probably already knew before he’d even asked. He took him in his mouth, slowly moving up and down, taking his time taking him apart. The fingers of Peter's left hand twined in soft golden hair and he threw his head back, Johnny’s mouth and the curl of his fingers a slick tunnel of warmth perfectly designed to drive him out of his mind.

“You feel so good,” he moaned, and tightened his grip on Johnny’s hair hard enough to make the other groan, too.

Johnny slid his lips off him, lingering at the head of his cock, and lightly flicked his tongue out again and again, teasing the sensitive tip, tasting the thick liquid already beading there. His strong fingers continued to drag up and down, alternating between fast and slow, pushing and pulling, and the sound of the act was all Peter heard, wet and obscene.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny,” Peter gasped, unable to help from moving his hips upward any longer, straining towards Johnny’s touch, needing more. Johnny’s lips and tongue played with him, raining light kitten licks along the underside of his cock. Every now and then, he would return to the head, swirling his tongue around the crown, but offered no more than that.

Peter could _take_ more. Johnny would let him. He wouldn’t mind. But Johnny was being so good, so sweet, it didn’t feel right.

“Peter, look at me. Please.”

Peter cursed but dragged his gaze down at the plea.

Johnny stared back up at him, blue eyes smoldering, and slowly sank all the way down his length.

Peter’s free hand twisted in the sheets and he loosened the one in Johnny’s hair, sliding it to the nape of his neck and holding him there.

Johnny made a sound, halfway between moaning and choking, but didn’t move until Peter reduced the pressure holding him down, letting him back up for air.

“Do it,” Johnny told him, hand twisting as he kept stroking. He licked his lips, begging for it, for Peter to absolutely ruin him, and there was no way he was going to ignore a plea like that.

He pushed into Johnny’s mouth, needing no further invitation, and began thrusting in and out, trying to hold back and failing, not even slowing down at Johnny’s obvious struggle to breathe, the feeling whenever Johnny’s throat clenched around him only driving him wilder.

“You are so good,” he whispered, tightening his hold around the back of Johnny’s head as his other hand stroked and petted his hair—token attempts to be comforting and tender completely negated by the reckless drive of his hips. “So good for me. So beautiful. So fucking perfect.”

Johnny bore both praise and Peter fucking his face without complaint, gaze still holding Peter’s own, at once begging for more and reassuring him that he could take it. Peter gave him what he wanted, moving deeper and harder, thrusts longer as he pulled out further before slamming home. The slick slide of his cock down Johnny’s throat set every nerve on his body on fire, and the press of tongue, the slight scrape of teeth, the suction every time he withdrew made his blood boil.

Johnny’s hand squeezed his knee, and Peter let him up. He looked completely wrecked, mouth and chin wet with spit and precome, a perfect match to Peter’s equally wet dick. He coughed, drawing in a shaky breath. His eyes were tearing up and he wiped them dry on his sleeve. “God.”

“Yes or no, Johnny?” Peter asked, holding his head between his hands.

Johnny looked up at him, pupils blown so wide, only the thinnest ring of blue was visible. “Yes.”

“Open.”

Johnny opened his mouth and let Peter guide him back down, one hand on his head, the other on his cock, fitting them back together so smoothly, and Peter bit back another groan. The sight of Johnny’s mouth stretched around him, the feel of his lips gripping him tight, tested the limits of his self-control. Each moment of contact only pushed him further and further until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Johnny—” he started, his warning cut off by the moan shutting out breath from his lungs. His vision whited out, one last thrust, and he came and came in Johnny’s mouth and all over his flushed face.

When it was over, Johnny kissed him, long and lingering, so thoroughly he could taste himself. Peter closed his eyes, letting himself believe that there was something else there—something warm and deeply sincere. It didn’t help the feelings that had already lived in his chest, but he could deal with them if it meant one more second of Johnny being this close.

“Johnny. Do you want me—”

“It’s okay, Pete. I just—I just wanted to do something for you, that’s all,” he said. He sank down on the mattress next to him, a pool of delicious heat, and burrowed against him.

Peter instinctively curled an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. “Are you sure? You don’t want anything?”

Johnny bit his lip. “Well, now that you mention it, I do want something.”

Peter looked at his face.

“I want you to sleep.”

“What?”

“I told you. You look terrible enough that I want to make you take a nap. So shut up and close your eyes already.”

“You _said_ it wasn’t that bad but now suddenly it’s _terrible_.”

“Shh.”

“I have a meeting,” Peter reminded him.

“I won’t let you be late. Trust me.”

Peter breathed in deep. “Okay,” he said, because he really was sleepy and exhausted and Johnny was so warm. “I trust you.”

 

+

 

Johnny woke him up at ten minutes past nine. He helped Peter get cleaned up and dressed, knotting his tie better than Peter had that morning.

“You need a haircut,” Johnny murmured as he ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, echoing his thoughts from earlier that morning.

“No time.”

“Want me to take care of it?”

“You’re not shaving my head.”

“I wouldn’t!” Johnny protested.  “I like having something to hold on to,” he smirked, giving his locks a tug to illustrate his point.

Peter hissed and Johnny dipped his head to plant kisses on his neck.  “I’m going to be late.”

Johnny made a face.  “Work, work, work. That’s _all_ you do.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.  “We can’t all be effortlessly rich like you.”

“I’m pretty sure you just called me a freeloader, asshole,” he said, squinting adorably at him.

And suddenly, Peter wanted him so much, it was almost a physical ache.  He took a deep breath and decided it was as good a time for jumping off a cliff as any.  “Johnny.”

Johnny tilted his head quizzically.

“Go out with me.”

Johnny blinked at him, startled. “Like...a date?”

“Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Johnny took a step back shook his head, and Peter’s chest tightened unpleasantly. “Pete...This was supposed to be simple and uncomplicated and what you want—it’s not that.”

Peter almost laughed. This was already all sorts of complicated. It had been ever since the first time they slept together and Peter had woken up obsessed with rooftop rendezvous and mid-day pizzas and movie nights.  It was too late to worry about that. He had been in love with Johnny Storm from the start.

But of course, Johnny didn’t feel the same. Johnny wouldn’t want the same, and why would he? Peter gave him a rueful smile and shrugged.  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

“I wasn’t saying no.”

Peter looked up so fast, it felt like he’d given himself whiplash. “Johnny?”

Johnny gave him a small smile. “Yeah, let’s go on a date. Why not? You can take me out to dinner tomorrow.”

“I—What?”

“Seven o’clock. Don’t you dare stand me up.”

“I won’t,” he promised, feeling a stupid smile fighting for permanent residence on his face.

“Wear a nice shirt. God, please tell me you have friends who’ll tell you what a nice shirt looks like.”

“I know what a nice shirt looks like!”

“No, Pete. You really don’t.”

“I...can find a personal shopper? If I throw enough money at them, I’m sure we could be friends.”

Johnny let out a bark of laughter. “You’re going to be late, Peter.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll be wherever you want me to be, I promise,” he swore, and gave his hand a squeeze before running out the door.

He grinned like a fool all the way down in the elevator. It was highly unexpected, his life just suddenly working out like that.  Peter wasn't used to it, but he wasn't complaining. He had a date, after all. With Johnny Storm. And he'd only had to ask.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been days since his return from that strange alternate earth, and Johnny was convinced he was doing a good job of pretending nothing was wrong.  Even though he could barely look at Reed or Sue or Franklin without feeling like someone was squeezing his heart like a stress ball, and maybe bouncing it off the floor for good measure.

In some other world, he’d lost them. He wondered how his other self was doing. The shape of the void in that Johnny’s life was sure to be different from his own, but it was a void all the same, and probably even harder to take. Because he expected to lose lovers and he knew he could lose friends, but family was supposed to stay with you. They were supposed remain even after everyone else had gone. That’s what family  _ meant _ , or so he thought with a scowl. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wear that shirt with those pants, either.”

Johnny gave a start and turned to look at his open door. His sister was standing there, leaning against the doorway and looking amused.

“That’s—what—the fourth outfit you’ve tried on?” Sue asked, walking in.

“Are you spying on me, Sue?”

“Hey, you’re the one who left his door wide open, I was just passing through a lot.”

She studied his open closet and picked out a burgundy shirt with subtle floral embroidery in even deeper red and fitted black pants. She held them both up and cocked her head. “Try these.”

Johnny ducked into his bathroom to change.

Sue was sitting on the edge of his bed and flipping through a car magazine she’d picked up off the floor when he came back out. She nodded once in approval. “What’s the occasion? Why are we getting dressed up?”

Johnny hesitated, delaying responding by checking his reflection again. “I have a date.” He saw her eyebrows shoot halfway up her forehead through the mirror at that. 

Sue shut the magazine, set it aside, and pretended to casually flick an imaginary piece of lint off her knee. Johnny knew she was pretending because they used the same tricks. “Can I ask who it’s with?”

Johnny looked down and mumbled at the floor. “Peter Parker.”

“Peter. The guy you’ve been having crazy amounts of sex with,  _ that _ Peter?”

Johnny choked at her description.

Sue rolled her eyes. “So... when did that situation change?”

Johnny shrugged, fiddling with his collar. “It hasn’t yet. I mean, it’s just one date.  It doesn’t...It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” Even he could hear the lie in his voice. It meant  _ something _ , and part of him was wishing he’d never said yes. That he could turn back time and somehow just...never sleep with him.

“Just a casual date, like all the casual sex?” Sue asked, a hint of incredulity in her voice.

“Y-yeah…”

“Turn around.”

Johnny turned to face her.

She tilted her head this way and that and went back to his closet, digging around until she found him a white leather bomber jacket. “Where’s he taking you?”

“Just some small Italian restaurant. Not too fancy. I picked the place,” Johnny said. “If you leave it up to him, we’d be eating either hotdogs or pizza slices from a street cart.”

“Is that why you don’t seem so sure about this?” Sue asked, eyebrows raised. “I’ve met him and he seems like a decent person, but if you have expectations—”

“Do you really think I’m that shallow?” Johnny asked hotly.

She blinked.  “Then why do you look like you’re having second thoughts? If you don’t like him outside of the bedroom, you don’t have to do this.  It’s perfectly fine. You deserve to go out with someone great. Someone you won’t have any reservations about. Someone who’s good to you.”

“He  _ is _ great,” Johnny mumbled.  “He  _ is _ good to me.”

“So what’s the problem?”

_ I don’t know _ .  _ Maybe I am.  _ “Nothing. Look, I just don’t want to jump the gun on anything. We have a lot of fun in bed, but I’m not sure that would translate well to...other things.”

Sue studied him for a moment. “Is that really it?”

Johnny looked away.  Maybe if he didn’t say it, he could still run away from it.

“Johnny.”

“I just—I like him,” he said helplessly, eyes wide as whatever dam had been holding the words back crumbled.

Sue smiled faintly and walked behind him. “Was that so very hard to say?” she asked gently, helping him into the jacket. 

Johnny laughed a little.  “You have no idea.”

She moved to face him, straightening his collar, and suddenly pulled him into a hug.

“Sue?”

“Johnny...I know things have been tough for you lately, but I want you to be happy, you know that right? We all do.”

He thought about Sue and Reed and his nephew. And it wasn’t Sue’s fault that the thoughts made him feel anything but glad, unable to keep from imagining a world without them in it, one where they had left him behind. “Sure,” he said, forcing a lightness and cheer in his voice that he didn’t feel. “I know that.”

Sue stepped back and turned him around to face the mirror again. “What do you think?”

“You haven’t lost your touch, sis.”

She beamed at him and, despite his apprehension, he found himself smiling back.  “Are you leaving now?”

“Not for another three hours...Hey, want to watch a movie with me and Franklin?”

“Sounds like a good idea. I’ll get him to the living room. Maybe I can even pry Reed out of his lab chair.”

“I’ll find Ben. Get the whole family together?”

Sue nodded and walked out, and Johnny changed back into the clothes he’d been wearing earlier, not wanting to get his outfit messy by accident.

_ Get the whole family together. _

Johnny didn’t know if that was a thing they could do well into the future — five years from now, or ten. The thought made him feel like throwing up.

_ Don’t think about it. Don’t think about being alone. _

He pushed it to the back of his mind, to the same place where he tried not to dwell on memories of Crystal or Frankie or goddamn Spider-Man, or any of his other failed attempts at relationships. 

He was terrified, but at least his family was still here. At least Pete was still here. Maybe he could allow himself to feel even just a  _ little _ excitement at the thought of the latter.

_ “I did it for you,”  _ that other Peter had said about swooping in and taking possession of the Baxter Building, believing that some day, there would be a Fantastic Four again. Johnny wondered if it had had the same effect on his counterpart as it had on him. If it had weighed like a hot stone in the pit of his stomach. If it had carved itself into his brain.

Did the other Johnny Storm even appreciate that? His mind flashed back to the fact of Spider-Man’s continued existence in that world. Did the other Johnny even think about Peter at all?

He stared at his reflection in the mirror.  _ Would  _ I _ have ever given Peter the time of day if Spider-Man were still around?  _

_ Stop thinking about Spider-Man. Just stop. _

He took a deep breath.  It was time to move forward. Regardless of what he still thought about Spider-Man, he  _ did _ like being around Peter.  He liked the way he made him feel—as if it were okay to just be Johnny Storm, as if he were more than just the Human Torch.  He certainly hadn’t planned on feeling this way, hadn’t intended on letting him get so close, but now that they had reached this point, Johnny realized he wanted this, and he wasn’t going to screw things up now.

 

+

 

If Johnny could still perspire, he would be sweating bullets but, as it was, seeing Peter standing outside of his company’s building was just enough to make him dizzy with both nerves and anticipation.  He didn’t notice Johnny walking down the block, too busy watching office equipment being loaded into the back of a large moving van with Harry Osborn wielding a clipboard right beside him.

Johnny paused several yards behind them, taking in the shape of him, the line of his shoulders and the width of his stance.  He always looked so strangely sure of his own footing, even when he was tired, as if you could drive a truck straight at him and still you could never really knock him down.  Johnny envied that in him.

Osborn glanced over and did a double-take, immediately nudging Peter in the side when he realized who he was looking at. He jerked his head in Johnny's direction, making Peter look. “I’ll ride along with this last batch of chairs, Pete.  I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Peter nodded wordlessly, eyes raking Johnny’s body appreciatively.  “Johnny.” He sounded just as nervous as Johnny felt.

“Hi,” Johnny said, trying hard to appear casual, as Osborn climbed into the front of the van after the last of the chairs had been loaded.

“You came,” Peter said, looking both surprised and relieved.  “I didn’t— I worried— You look— You look perfect.”

Johnny ignored the tiny stab of guilt, remembering his hesitation earlier that day.  “Thanks. You look great, too. You ready?”

“Yeah.  I can— I got all I need.  Are we walking or taking a cab?”

“It’s just a few blocks,” Johnny told him.  “We can hoof it.”

They walked, Johnny a step ahead and leading the way, while Peter followed him, uncharacteristically silent. Johnny waited for an insult or teasing or a stupid joke—anything to drown out the remaining doubts in his mind—but none came.  His mouth felt packed with cotton and his heart beat inside his chest like a furious caged bird.

_ Let’s just fuck _ , he almost said.  It was easier. Not once, in the dozens of times they had gotten together for the express purpose of screwing each other into oblivion, had they been like this—anxious, stuttering, guts tied into every imaginable knot.  What did they have to date for? They were already having all the sex they could possibly want. Exclusively, even—despite how they’d never actually agreed upon it. So what was the point? What did they expect to change?

Peter’s hand was suddenly on his elbow.  “Johnny. You don’t have to do this.”

He blinked at him in confusion.  “Huh?”

“We don’t have to go on this date if you don’t want to.”

Johnny’s mouth fell open. For a moment, he was tempted to seize the reprieve Peter was offering. Maybe they could laugh this whole thing off later—a stupid, silly mistake they had just stopped themselves from making.

But no. The mistake now would be in lying about how they felt.

Peter sighed, a puff of air so subtle, Johnny almost missed it. “Look, it’s fine.  I figured— With our luck, Victor von Doom could attack in the middle of our date. Paste-Pot Pete could go on a rampage. You could have second thoughts.  I’m prepared for all of these possibilities.”

“He goes by Trapster now, and he wouldn’t dare,” Johnny huffed.

“It’s fine,” he repeated. 

Johnny shook his head. “It’s not. I  _ had _ second thoughts. Then I had some third thoughts. And now I  _ want _ to do this. I want to be with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I got all dressed up and good-looking for you. Would I do that if I wasn’t?”

“You’re always good-looking,” Peter said, trying to hold back a smile and failing.

“Good point,” Johnny said, pushing out his lower lip in a thoughtful pout.

Peter pushed it back in almost absently and Johnny caught his fingers.

He looked down at their hands. Peter’s fingers were long and graceful, and Johnny’s looked so broad and clumsy in comparison. Johnny laced them together and met Peter’s puzzled gaze.

What did they expect to change with dating? Well, maybe Johnny could have more moments like this.

He smiled. “Let’s do this. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter said slowly, and swallowed. He tugged on Johnny’s hand and tucked it under his arm. “Yeah, okay.”

 

+

 

After all of that, Johnny shouldn’t have been surprised that they never actually made it to their date and yet he was. 

It was Doom, of course.  More accurately, it was doombots. They had almost made it, too. If they’d reached that particular street corner five minutes earlier, they would have been none the wiser.  By this time, they would have been seated at Johnny’s carefully chosen restaurant and flirting shamelessly over their menus.

Instead, Johnny could only watch in frozen shock as one bot, then a second, then a _ third _ zipped through the air just past them. One fourth of the Fantasticar followed with Sue in it, who turned her head and met Johnny’s eyes. Her expression shifted to something half surprised and half apologetic.

He saw her lips move in a soundless “I’m sorry” as she sped past before disappearing around a corner.

From the direction she came, Johnny heard two explosions and a quick glance over his shoulder showed him the other two-fourths of the Fantastic Four, in their Fantasticar modules, engaging  _ more _ doombots.

Johnny sighed.

“You should go,” Peter said, sounding resigned.

Johnny snapped his head up to look him in the face. “Wait for me.”

“Johnny—”

“I’ll come back, I promise,” he insisted. “Just go to the restaurant and wait for me?”

Peter hesitated. “This looks like it could take a while.”

“Wait. Please?”

Peter gave in and nodded, something that looked an awful lot like worry in his eyes. “Stay in one piece.”

Johnny squeezed his hand and took off, burning even hotter than usual. Doom had picked the worst possible time for his shenanigans, and Johnny was going to let him know it.

 

+

 

By the time Johnny and his team finished dispatching the distraction bots and had found and driven off Victor himself, it was eleven o’clock.

“I hate my life.”

Sue gave him a sympathetic glance as she watched the crews hauling in wreckage from the fight. “You can go ahead if you want, Johnny.”

“Restaurant closed an hour ago. He’s probably already asleep.” Then he remembered this was Peter they were talking about and the guy almost never slept. 

“Go,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll want to see that you’re not hurt, at least.”

Johnny gave his sister a grateful glance and flew straight to Peter’s apartment. He hovered for a moment, hesitating, before gently rapping on one of the windows of Peter’s bedroom.

_ What if he’s angry? What if he’s upset?  _ All the girls Johnny had ever dated (the ones without powers, anyway) had hated it when he stood them up, even for things like saving the world.  _ What if— _

“You know I have a front door?” Peter asked through a window Johnny hadn’t even noticed opening. He stepped aside to let him in. “There are even things called elevators so you wouldn’t need to climb up stairs or, I don’t know, fly to get to it.”

Johnny frowned, flaming off and landing in the carpet. “I’m sorry. I tried, I really did. I just—”

“Hey, hey,” Peter said, putting his hands on Johnny’s arms. “It’s okay. I saw it on the news.”

“It was a nice restaurant,” Johnny said sullenly.

“It was,” Peter agreed. “Very nice, uh, water. Excellent tableware, for sure.”

“How long did you wait?”

“Until about an hour before closing. Which was right about the time the real Doctor Doom showed up and I figured things were a long way from over.  That was when I thought you weren’t going to make it and I may as well go home.”

Johnny groaned, dropping his head onto Peter’s shoulder. “You said it. You said Doom would attack and you were right.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot.”

Johnny rolled his eyes even though Peter couldn’t see. His hands were still on Johnny’s arms, slowly rubbing up and down, and it felt  _ nice.  _ Pleasant.

“I wish I’d been wrong, though,” he added quietly, sounding like he meant it. “Have you eaten?”

Johnny shook his head.

“Want some reheated pizza? Or I guess you can just warm it up yourself. Save electricity and all that.”

“You’re a beacon of hospitality.” It didn’t come out quite as sarcastically as he’d intended.

Peter gave him a quelling look and led him to the living room where a box of pizza sat on the coffee table. “Help yourself.”

Johnny picked up a slice, debated heating it, but eventually decided it was too much of a bother and wolfed it down as it was in a few bites.

Peter was working on something on his laptop at the kitchen table, ignoring him, so Johnny went over and sat on his lap.

“What are you working on?”

“Apparently nothing right now,” Peter said, giving up when Johnny kept blocking his view of the screen.

Johnny closed the laptop lid. “That’s good, because you still have a date.”

“My  _ date _ stood me up.”

Johnny shifted so that he was straddling him. “Your date is very,  _ very _ sorry,” he murmured, cradling Peter’s face between his hands. Peter’s eyes glittered with amusement, the faintest hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth. Johnny wanted to kiss it, so he did, leaning down to press his lips on that one spot and feeling it curve further into an actual grin.

“That the best you can do?” Peter drawled, teasing, his hands holding onto Johnny’s elbows and fixing him in place.

“No, but I’m still trying to decide if you’re worth the special treatment.”

Peter rolled his eyes and reeled him in, apparently deciding if Johnny wasn’t going to kiss him properly on his own, he was going to  _ make _ him.

“Do you have  _ any _ idea,” Peter murmured against his mouth, “what it’s like to be stood up in a fancy restaurant where everyone  _ else _ is on a date?”

Johnny’s stomach plummeted. “I’m sorry. I’ll say it a hundred times if that’s what it takes. I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Peter said, squeezing Johnny’s arms. “There are other ways you can make it up to me.”

Johnny made a small noise in the back of his throat. “What—What do you want me to do?”

“Well, you can kiss me for starters.”

Johnny groaned and dove into it, kissing him as deeply as his hasty lungful of air would allow, licking into his mouth as he buried his fingers in Peter’s hair. He heard Peter moan in response, felt Peter’s fingers twist the back of his shirt. And this was easy. This wasn’t only familiar territory, but in a weird backwards way, this was  _ safe _ . Johnny knew that what Peter wanted in this scenario was something he could easily give.

“You know I’m only putting out because you somehow managed to save the city again, right?” Peter grumbled unconvincingly when Johnny pulled back for another breath.

“As if you could resist me,” Johnny teased, draping his arms over Peter’s shoulders.

“I can’t,” Peter said, unexpectedly serious.  “That’s the problem.”

Johnny’s heart did a little flip inside his chest. “Pete.”

Strong fingers dug into his hips, drawing him even closer.  He could feel Peter’s growing erection under him, the rising heat of his body. 

“I can’t,” Peter repeated, pulling Johnny’s hips into movement, grinding on top of his lap. “And I’ve tried.”

Johnny stared down at him, his own lips parting as his breath hitched unevenly, matching the slow, sinuous motion Peter was guiding him through. Peter’s face was focused and intense, eyebrows knitting together, gaze smoldering as he looked up at Johnny.

“I should save the city more often,” Johnny said shakily, picking up speed as he dragged his ass along Peter’s solid length.  The friction through the layers of their clothes was getting to them both. “Is it the skin-tight suit that does it for you? Admit it, I look hot in the uniform, don’t I?”

“You’re literally on fire eighty percent of the time,” Peter said dryly, still sounding far too normal for Johnny’s liking.  “Of course, you look hot.”

“And that turns you on.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“Liar,” Johnny whispered and moved his hands to lean back against Peter’s knees as he continued to grind.

Peter reached out to cradle the back of his neck, partly to support him, and partly just to touch him—or so Johnny hoped. He tilted his head back, allowing his eyes to drift shut, and felt Peter’s other hand slip down the front of his pants.

“The fire doesn’t do much for me,” Peter murmured, and Johnny’s hips stuttered at the feel of a hand cupping his cock through his underwear.  “I much prefer seeing  _ you _ .  The faces you make. So irresistible.”

He shivered, an electric buzz passing from his scalp to the tips of his toes. He felt like every inch of his skin was burning even when it wasn’t, so much so that he had to open his eyes to make sure and met Peter’s hungry gaze instead.  Johnny felt so good, he wanted to say it. He wanted to tell him how amazing he was, only to realize that words were beyond him, as was even simple sound, his mouth falling open in a soundless cry.

Peter smirked at him, rocking his hips back and forth, the hand on Johnny’s dick continuing to stroke him through the fabric, and Johnny found his expression so annoying, he  _ had _ to kiss him again.

When he did, it felt like a bomb had gone off in the middle of his chest, too many feelings exploding through him all at once. Desire. Affection. A suffocating warmth that he couldn’t even name. It was all too much, too fast.

He broke away reluctantly in an effort to slow his wildly beating heart and calm them both down before the whole thing ended too soon. 

“You’re incredible,” Peter said softly, face full of wonder and something unfathomable.  

“You taste like pizza,” Johnny shot back unsteadily, hoping the banter would drag them back to earth.

Peter blinked in momentary surprise and snorted. “So do you, dumbass.”

He may as well have slapped Johnny in the face, the way he instantly recoiled, his arousal abruptly withering away.

_ No. No, no, no, not now. _

Peter furrowed his brows. “Are you okay? Did I—Should I not have said that? I’ve called you worse.”

He closed his eyes, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “I’m okay,” he said, even though he wasn’t. He could barely hear himself, couldn’t focus on Peter, couldn’t stop himself from  _ remembering. _

_ “You taste like burgers and fries.” _

_ “So do you, dumbass.” _

“Johnny?”

Johnny looked down at Peter’s worried expression. Peter, who was here. Peter, who hadn’t run off at the first sign of trouble. Peter, who thought he  _ wanted _ Johnny despite Johnny being, well, himself. 

And all he could see was Spider-Man. Spider-Man, who he had hoped would love him, who had kissed him on top of the Statue of Liberty in the light of the setting sun, and who had disappeared a year ago without so much as a goodbye.

Johnny’s insides boiled with guilt.

“Johnny.”

Peter’s worried tone brought him back. He sighed softly and forced a smile. “Sorry. I think the fight earlier took more out of me than I first thought. Raincheck?”

“Sure,” Peter said, so quickly and easily that Johnny felt even worse about lying.

Johnny climbed off him and headed for the nearest window. “I’ll call you okay?” More lies.  _ You’re on a roll, Johnny. _ He tried not to focus on Peter’s face, on the disappointment and confusion stamped all over it.

“O-okay.”

Johnny jumped out of the window then. He wasn’t sure how much more of Peter trying his best to be pleasant and understanding he could take. He didn’t deserve any of it.

_ Let’s see, Johnny. You stood him up and when you finally show, you can’t go more than ten minutes without thinking of some other guy.  _ Peter deserved better than that. He deserved better than an idiot who refused to give up on someone who hadn’t wanted him.

Sooner or later, even Peter would realize that.

_ You’re not good enough. You’ve never been good enough. You’re not good enough to stick around for. Not even Spider-Man stuck around for you, and that’s his whole deal. _

Johnny put on a burst of speed, a human rocket single-mindedly aimed in the direction of the Baxter Building.

It had been stupid of him to think he could date Peter Parker. He would ruin things, just like with Spidey. Peter would go away, just like Spidey. And, in the end, he would be alone.

 

+

 

Johnny had tried getting rid of everything that had to do with Spider-Man once. He’d gathered all the Spider-Man toys and merchandise Ben had gotten him as gag gifts because Johnny always pretended to hate them in one box, along with all the random things he’d accumulated over the years that either belonged to Spider-Man or which Spider-Man had given him. A broken web-shooter, a replica of the Statue of Liberty, an old burner phone, one glove that had been lost in Johnny’s bedroom one time Spider-Man had come crawling in with a broken hand for help with a symbiote, and other odds and ends.

He would have burned it all up in a fit of pique less than a month after his disappearance if Sue hadn’t saved the box from him and put it away some place Johnny didn’t know and wouldn’t have to see.

She shouldn’t have bothered because, even with the Webhead gone, Franklin was still a fan, and the living room kept being littered with Spider-Man action figures and Franklin’s copy of  _ Webs _ , which now served the dual purpose of reminding Johnny of both Spidey  _ and _ Peter.

He picked up one such action figure that had wedged itself between the cushions of the living room couch and glared at it.  _ If you were here, this wouldn’t be happening. _

If Spider-Man had just stayed—

“You’re not going out tonight?” Sue frowned, seeing Johnny sprawled on the couch. “It’s Friday night, you know.”

Johnny shrugged, dropped the figure to the floor, and listlessly changed channels on the TV.

Sue raised an eyebrow. “Something going on, Johnny?”

“No? S’why I’m sittin’ here in my pajamas, right?”

Sue stared at him. “Okay, that’s it,” she said, planting herself between him and the TV.

“Sue!”

“First, you and that Parker guy started casually sleeping together, and I never said anything because, well, you’re grown men. It’s none of my business. Besides, I wasn’t going to keep you from something that made you happy.”

_ Happy. _

“Then you got all anxious about that one date but then the next day you started—” she made a vague, sweeping gesture “—being like  _ this _ . You’ve been this way for three days. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” And it was technically true. Nothing  _ had  _ happened. Johnny had walked out on his date before anything could.

“Did you two have a fight? Did he give you a hard time for being late? Because I’d have something to tell him if that’s—”

“No! No...He—He did nothing wrong. He’s fucking perfect. That’s...that’s the problem,” he finished, voice sinking into faint muttering, and slid down onto his face on the sofa.

There was a significant pause. “Wow. This guy really hit you hard, huh?”

“He’s great,” Johnny said into the cushions.

“Why is that a problem?”

“Uh...he’s great?”

The sofa sank with Sue’s added weight, her strong arms hauling him up by the back of his shirt, just like she used to when he had been a kid and had tripped onto his face in the yard.

“Baby bro, I love you, but a lot of the time, you make no sense at all.”

Johnny laughed weakly. 

Sue regarded him seriously. “You really like him. I’ve seen the way you look after you’ve been with him.”

“He’s just really  _ really _ good in bed, that’s all,” he said dismissively, trying for a joking tone that didn’t quite work with that much honesty mixed in.

“Johnny. I don’t know every little thing that goes on in your life. And I don’t understand you as well as I used to. But I see enough. You’re wonderful. You deserve to be happy. Don’t ruin this for yourself.” She reached over to the coffee table and picked up his phone. The screen lit up and Johnny could see the list of missed calls and notifications—a surprising number coming from Peter himself. “Call him.”

Johnny looked at her helplessly. She didn’t understand. She had met Reed when she was young and that had been that. They were two perfect people who belonged together. Johnny had had countless flings and all of them had ended badly. Why should Peter Parker be any different? The guy was crazy smart. He would see, far sooner than most did, all that Johnny had to offer, and it wasn’t much. “It’ll never work out.”

“You haven’t even tried.”

“I don’t want to, all right?” he snapped.

Sue’s lips pressed together.

“Besides, I’ve been completely ignoring him,” Johnny mumbled. “He probably hates me now.”

“No one could hate you, Johnny.”

“You’re just biased because you’re my sister.”

“I am. And if anyone’s seen you at your worst, it’s me. If anyone has any reason to hate you, that’s me, too. But I don’t. So no one else can.”

“Flawless logic.”

“Do you want me to get Reed?” she retorted, and Johnny knew there was no winning this one. When Sue got like this, the universe bent over backwards to prove her right.

Johnny loved her immensely.

“Call him. If you really don’t want this, if you don’t want to date him, at least have the guts to tell him to his face.”

“But I—”

“You  _ want _ to date him.”

Johnny nodded miserably.

“Then call him and tell him that.” She shoved the phone into his hands and wrinkled her nose. “But if you’re going to meet him, I hope you shower first.”

 

+

 

Peter got to the diner first this time—Johnny could see him sitting at a window-side booth from the sidewalk. He hadn’t noticed Johnny, eyes fixed on the cup of coffee in front of him. The half-circles under his eyes, nearly a permanent feature, were more prominent than usual, and his hair looked more of a disaster than normal.

It was unfair how much Johnny still wanted him.

“Pete.”

Peter shot to his feet. “Johnny.”

“Hey,” he said, in what he hoped was a neutral voice. “Sit?”

Peter reclaimed his seat slowly and Johnny took the place across from him. He drew in a deep breath. “Johnny. If I said anything or did anything—”

“You didn’t.”

He looked doubtful and steamrollered on, anyway, carried by momentum on the same breath. “We don’t have to date. It doesn’t have to be anything more than...whatever we had before. I’m sorry for pushing you.”

“You didn’t push me. Peter, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why have you been ignoring me? We were supposed to have a date and you missed it. And I—I used that fact to try to get you to make up for it with sex before you ran away—”

“No!” Johnny interrupted him. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then please tell me how it was.”

Johnny looked down at Peter’s hands, clenched nervously into fists, on the table. “Sometimes you’re too much, you know.”

Peter looked stricken. “Okay. Okay, I know I can be a bit rough. But I thought it was what you wanted and if it wasn’t—”

“No, Pete—This isn’t about sex. What happens in the bedroom—you and me—I  _ did _ want all of that. I  _ do _ . God. You have no idea. This is...something else.”

“Johnny. Please. Tell me how I can fix this.”

Johnny half-groaned and half-laughed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “You saying that just makes it worse. And I know you don’t mean to but I don’t think you even realize.”

“Realize what?”

“How much you sound like him sometimes.”

Peter went very still, and Johnny remembered that despite his occasional awkwardness and goofy sense of humor, he’s supposed to be a genius. If he was good at anything, it was at putting two and two together.

“It’s been a year, Johnny,” Peter said at last, sounding strained. “I don’t think Spider-Man’s going to come back at this point. And even if he eventually does—”

“He’s a jerk for disappearing without a word and I shouldn’t give him the time of day?”

“Pretty much.”

Johnny shifted his gaze to Peter’s coffee—cooling forgotten on the vinyl tabletop. “We had a spot, you know.”

Peter’s hand twitched. “Don’t tell me this,” he said gruffly but now that Johnny had gotten started, it was difficult to stop.

“The Statue of Liberty. We would meet there, just to talk. If I left a message in the sky, he almost always saw it, and he would come. If we were stuck together in a bad place or in trouble, he would get us out of it. I thought he was great, even though I never told him. Maybe I should have done that instead of kissing him there. Maybe things would be different if I had. Maybe I’d still have a best friend. But I messed things up, and now Spider-Man’s gone.”

His voice had gotten really small by the end of that sentence, and a thick silence descended over the table. Johnny’s eyes, still downcast, caught Peter’s fist flexing even tighter.

“Johnny, you can’t seriously think he disappeared just because—”

“I  _ know _ . I know it doesn’t make any sense because Spider-Man wouldn’t ever leave the people of New York alone over something so stupid. That to do something like that, he would have to be…”

“Dead,” Peter finished bluntly, when it didn’t look like Johnny would.

Johnny flinched and looked up at him at last. There was a strange expression on Peter’s face. He looked almost...pained. Johnny thought back to that glimpse of him, immortalized on TV, angrily asking reporters to leave him alone after Spider-Man’s disappearance. It was the same look, he realized.

“Do you know how many of his villains seem to have been running rampant since the last time he was seen?” Peter began.  “Doctor Octopus, the Vulture, the Sandman — he could have gotten into a fight with any of them. Or all of them and—”

“Stop,” Johnny said hoarsely, voice breaking. “Please stop.”

Peter clenched his jaw.  “I don’t like talking about him, Johnny. But for your sake, I’ll tell you this once. I know you’d rather think that Spider-Man was a jerk who rejected you for no good reason because the alternative would mean he’s gone. But it’s messing you up. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. And it’s not fair to him, either. Because maybe he cared about you just as much as you did him. Maybe he never wanted to disappear. But life just happens. Things go wrong, no matter how hard you try.”

Johnny felt like he was drowning, the deep sea squeezing air out of his lungs. He could barely see Peter in front of him, hazy through salt water. 

Peter reached across the table for one of his hands, and Johnny’s first instinct was to pull away. But Peter fought to hold on tight. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t make him leave, Johnny.”

Johnny jerked free. Everything was blurry. “I gotta—I need—”

“Johnny—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, and ran out of the diner. 

He was dimly aware of Peter’s voice calling after him, of Peter himself running. But Johnny flamed on and launched himself upward. He needed to go. He needed to be somewhere else.

_ “You were right” _

_ “Yeah, that happens a lot.” _

He needed to be in a world where Peter Parker was wrong for once in his damn life.


	8. Chapter 8

Peter had screwed up a lot of things in his life, but none as spectacularly as his almost-relationship with Johnny Storm.  Even his last serious,  _ actual _ relationship with Mary Jane Watson hadn’t ended so horribly.  She hadn’t run out on him practically in tears. Granted, he hadn’t told her that her best friend was dead and that she should get over it.

Peter held his head between his hands and stared down at the paper on his desk. He’d read the same page on the report before him five times and it still made no sense. He just wanted to go home, go to bed, and never get up again.

“God, I’m the worst. The absolute worst human being.”

“Possibly,” Anna Maria said from the other side of his desk. “But some context would be nice before I agree with you.”

He looked up abruptly.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

Peter stared at her hollowly. “You ever tell the guy you were not-dating that his best friend who he was in love with is dead so he should date you instead?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d he take it?”

“He ran away crying and set himself on fire. Never had that happen before.”

Anna Maria studied him.  “Look, I know you must be upset, but you need to pull yourself together for the investor’s meeting this afternoon.  Harry didn’t come in and you’re the only one who can do it.”

Investor’s meeting.  Peter had forgotten all about it.  He looked at her, slightly panicked, and blinked at the papers all over his desk.  “The briefing—”

She sighed. “Please tell me you read it yesterday.”

“I—I did,” he said, beginning to remember its contents.

“Harry’s assistant already made the presentation.  It should be in your e-mail.”

He breathed loudly out through his nose.  “Thank you, Anna Maria. And I’m sorry. I’m just—”

The phone on his desk suddenly rang, startling them both, and Peter absently pressed a button. “Yes?”

“Susan Richards is on her way to your office, Mr. Parker,” their floor receptionist said nervously through the speaker. “I asked her to wait, but—”

“Fantastic. Just what I need,” Peter said dryly. “Thanks.”

“Your wordplay gets even worse when you’re stressed,” Anna Maria observed. “Should I get legal in here?”

“What? Why?” Was Susan going to sue—oh, look, another one—him for breaking her little brother’s heart?

“The licensing deal? It’s the sort of thing you need lawyers for.”

“If only this was about that,” Peter sighed.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Harry’s assistant peeking through.

“Mr. Parker, it’s—”

“Let her in,” Peter said resignedly, getting to his feet. Maybe the Invisible Woman would be kind enough to throw him out the window.

Sue glanced at Anna Maria on her way in, taking in the clutter of papers on the desk as well. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt you while you’re working, but—”

“This about Johnny?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be outside,” Anna Maria sad quickly, hurrying after the retreating receptionist.

Sue regarded him silently for a while. “What did you say to him?”

Peter dropped himself back into his chair, gesturing for her to take Anna Maria’s seat. “I told him Spider-Man was dead.” In his mind’s eye, he saw them again—the spiders crowding round—but did his best to swallow down the urge to scream. He had almost reached the limit talking to Johnny about him yesterday. Then he had dashed straight home and puked into the toilet for fifteen minutes straight at the feel of phantom legs skimming his own limbs. This was nothing. Nothing.

Sue looked at him, stunned.

“Look, before you say anything, I’m well aware it was a shitty thing to say but—”

“But he needed to hear it?” Sue asked.

“I thought he did.” He placed his elbows on his desk and held his head in his hands again, tugging at his hair. It was probably a godawful mess again, but it was the least of his problems now.

“You were right, you know.”

Peter stopped trying to rip his own hair out and looked up at her. “What.”

“I shouldn’t have let him go on so long that way. It’s just...he looked like he needed to hold on to that hope. But it wasn’t helping him at all. I thought I just needed to tell him nice things, but what he needed was someone to be kind enough to tell him the truth.”

“How...How is he?”

“He’s been in his bedroom since yesterday, just staring at your book, page by page, over and over.”

“My book?”

“The Spider-Man photo book.”

“Oh, that.”

“You should come see him.”

“Why?”

She frowned and Peter suddenly remembered that Susan Storm was the most dangerous member of the Fantastic Four. “What do you mean,  _ why _ ?”

He winced. “I mean, I know it’s my fault, but I can’t fix it. I’ll probably just make it worse.”

“You need to give Johnny a bit more credit,” Sue said. “He’d try for you, but you need to actually be there.”

“Sue. I…”

“And this is me saying I think you’re perfect for each other by the way. You’re both idiots.”

Peter snorted.

“Come see him.”

“I can’t. I mean — not this instant. I need—God, I must sound like I don’t care—but I have people counting on me here, right now—”

“You have work to do, I understand,” she reassured him. “But after. Come see him, all right?”

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

 

+

 

The investor’s meeting went about as well as any could go.  No one remarked on the few seconds Peter spaced out in the middle of presenting a graph, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about the few relieved mutterings about how at least he wasn’t making any ‘weird jokes’ today.

He collapsed in a chair in the conference room once it was over, leaving a senior staff member to take the investors on a tour of the new facilities.

Anna Maria prodded him in the shoulder. “Okay, that wasn’t  _ completely _ bad.”

“I need to go.”

She hesitated. “I know you promised, but you still have other commitments, Peter.”

“What commitments?”

“To Harry. The Osborns. They’re expecting you at the event tonight.”

Peter leaned forward, his head between his hands. “How much time do I have?”

“An hour and a half and you still need to pick up your tux and go get your watch—Harry left a note,” she added apologetically.

Okay.  Okay, that could still work.  He could go to the ceremony, talk to one or two people to keep up appearances, then leave after an hour and head to the Baxter Building.  Harry would understand, and he didn’t care what Norman would say.

“I need to go,” he said again, launching himself out of his chair.

“Pete?”

“It’s fine,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be there.  I just need to make a call.”

Peter walked past her and drifted into his office, locking the door behind him for good measure.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at all of his unanswered messages to Johnny Storm.  The last thing Johnny had sent him had been another racy selfie, and Peter couldn’t feel anything but horrible about it now.

He dialed his number, not expecting Johnny to answer, and didn’t feel all that disappointed when his call went straight to voicemail.

He took a deep breath.  “Hey, Johnny. It’s me. I don’t know if you want to hear from me, but...I need to talk to you.  I have somewhere—I have something I need to do but I want to talk to you. I’ll come over later, okay?  And if you don’t want to see me, you can have Reed program your elevator to launch me into space or something. Okay? Okay. I’ll—I’ll see you. If you’ll let me. Bye.”

He chewed on his lower lip, staring at the phone, before putting it away. It was fine.  Even if Johnny hated him, even if Johnny never wanted to see him again, even if Sue was completely wrong and he and Johnny weren’t any good for each other, he had to know.  He had to hear it from him. Even if it meant losing everything. 

Not that Johnny Storm had ever been his to lose in the first place. It was his own fault for being greedy, for forgetting his own place. All he’d ever been was a steady hook-up, he’d known that from the start. And if he was going to fall flat on his face—well, it was only what he deserved for reaching too far and wanting too much.

 

+

 

Peter had never had much occasion to visit Oscorp grounds. He had gone on a field trip once, in high school, in a class that had also included Harry.  He remembered how excited he’d been and how Harry had rolled his eyes at his enthusiasm, but he couldn’t remember a thing about the trip itself now. Beyond that and the few times he’d had to wait in the lobby to pick up his college girlfriend, Gwen Stacy, who had interned there, he tended to stay away from the place.  Mostly because Norman Osborn kept trying to hire him every time they saw each other and Peter hadn’t wanted to be known as That Guy at work.

Now, with a sharper eye that knew what to pay attention to, he understood how Norman had scoffed at their former offices.  Every inch of Oscorp was meticulously monitored and covered by security measures bordering on paranoid—even for what should have been the more accessible exhibit halls and auditoriums that took up most of the fifth and sixth floors.

He stood in the middle of the fifth floor atrium, dressed up in a brand new tailored tuxedo Harry had insisted he get, wearing Norman’s ridiculous watch, and wondered what the hell he was doing.

He was considering turning around and bolting when all of a sudden, he felt his hackles rise, accompanied by a faint wave of nausea and a mild headache.  Maybe it was really nothing more than him being allergic to his cologne, but all of these signaled one thing and he knew, before even turning around, that Harry’s father would be right there, standing behind him.

“I’m glad you could make it, Peter,” Norman said smoothly, smiling with too many teeth.  “It’s good to have even young, new blood here to contribute. I do think education is always a cause worth supporting, don’t you?

Peter would much rather donate directly to a school or a different scholarship program than to Oscorp, but Norman had just expertly maneuvered him into a position where he couldn’t say no without looking like a monumental asshole. “Anything for a brighter future, Norman,” he heard himself say, and hated himself for letting such an empty platitude fall from his lips.

“Of course.” Norman squeezed his shoulder. “Is it just you here tonight?”

Peter furrowed his brow, confused. “Isn’t Harry here?”

“My son won’t be making it, I’m afraid,” Norman said.  “He’s been feeling a little under the weather lately.”

Had he?  God, had Peter been so self-absorbed that he hadn’t even noticed his best friend being ill?

“I’m surprised you didn’t waltz in here with a pretty thing on your arm — you always seemed to have so many of them.”

Peter tried to discreetly step away. Maybe he could shake Norman off by pretending to see someone he knew across the room.  He was sure he’d caught sight of one of their investors coming in—

“But if you’re worried about being lonely tonight, you can stick with me,” Norman said magnanimously, and Peter resisted the urge to cringe away when Norman took his elbow. “This way.  Let me show you off to some friends of mine. After all, you and my son  _ are  _ running a very successful business together, and you’re practically family.”

Peter let himself be steered towards a crowd of stuffy-looking old businessmen, frantically trying to think of some way to flee, but Norman’s grip on his arm only tightened. He sighed inwardly and endured, telling himself he was doing this for work, but mostly for Harry who normally handled so much more of this than he did anyway. It was just about time for him to do his fair share.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to endure much, as the ceremony itself started fifteen minutes later, and Norman was called to deliver a speech ten minutes in.  Peter seized the opportunity and excused himself from their table, meaning to leave the whole affair entirely. He was halfway down the aisle when he felt a sharp sting on his wrist, painful enough to make him yelp, drawing the attention of several nearby tables and the disapproval of all seated there.

He looked down, confused, and tried to identify the reason for the pain as he walked the rest of the way out of the room. Once out in the lobby, he stopped, squinting and ducking his head under the brighter lighting as a wave of dizziness suddenly washed over him.

_ Whoa. _

Peter stumbled past the stairs, guided by blind instinct and a vague memory of the event hall’s layout, and found his way to a terrace garden with fresh air. He leaned against the railing and took deep breaths, trying not to panic about the fact that his vision was becoming extremely blurry and it was getting harder and harder to remain upright.

The last thing he wanted was to accidentally pitch himself over the side and into the bushes five stories below so he turned around and slid to the floor, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. 

“Mr. Parker, what a place to be,” a low, familiar voice asked, sibilant and mocking.  “Is everything all right?”

Peter squinted, trying to force himself to  _ stand up,  _ but four that  he had no control over his body.  He really  _ should _ be panicking now.  He would have been, except even his mind felt somehow numbed.

A figure approached, little more than a blurry shade.

“Norman?”

“Can’t hold your drink, Pete?”

_ I didn’t—I haven’t— _

Norman stepped into a patch of moonlight, face momentarily out of shadow, and Peter could have sworn he was grinning. But another step brought him back into darkness, and Peter couldn’t see his face again.

Something in his brain kicked in then, the dull throbbing focusing into something knife-sharp in realization.

“You...you did this,” he began weakly, still trying to push himself up from a slump, fingers scrabbling at his wrist. The sting. The watch. Norman’s insistence he wear it there. “Why—?”

“Shh,” Norman hushed him, strong hands on his upper arms, hauling him to his feet. “You’re unwell, Peter. Let me take you to a place where we can do something about that.”

Peter dug in his heels, but it was too late.  Two seconds later, everything went black.

 

+

 

His sense of smell and hearing returned to him dulled and muffled, and breathing required more effort than normal.  _ Wrapped. _ His face—his entire head—was wrapped in  _ something _ . A mask of some kind, he guessed, trying to pry his eyes open. But his body still refused to cooperate, every muscle heavy as lead.

“You were right, Mr. Osborn,” someone said off to his right somewhere. “The initial sample you procured suggested as much, but now we know for sure. It’s slow, but his original mutation is repairing itself. Well, either that or the modifications we inserted are being suppressed.”

“I don’t understand, Stone,” Norman’s voice seethed. “If it wasn’t going to work, then shouldn’t it have failed sooner?”

“Maybe there’s a dormant gene that was...switched on. I’m still running an analysis on the genome. Until that’s done, the drug I tested against the sample you gave me a few weeks ago should buy us enough time.”

With herculean effort, Peter managed to open one eye and then the other. Whatever was covering his head left him able to see. He was in a white room divided by a curtain, with Norman and whoever he was speaking to on the other side of it. Another glance down at himself revealed that he was restrained to a hospital bed, his jacket removed and one of his shirtsleeves rolled up. A ball of cotton was taped to the inside of his elbow.

They took his blood without permission. Some part of him raged at the idea. But it was a distant feeling, still muted by whatever drug had knocked him out.

“What about Harry’s tests? Have you finished with those?”

Peter couldn’t help but give a start at the mention of Harry, surprising himself with his own movement.  It surprised Osborn as well, the rattle of his restraints and the creak of the exam table a harsh duet.

The curtain was ripped aside and Peter saw both Norman and a younger man — Stone, he assumed — looking at him.  The latter seemed especially curious, trying to peer at him over Norman’s shoulder.

“Awake already, I see,” Norman said flatly. “The hallucinogenic gas, Stone.  Then leave us.”

Whatever was covering his face was rolled up halfway to expose his nose, only for the freed lower half of his face to be covered by a different mask connected to a gas cylinder. Peter flailed, determined to not breathe whatever was pumping through it, to break free, to fight—

“It’s quite useless, Mr. Parker,” Norman said, amused, once Stone had left the room. “You’re not strong enough. Not yet.” He wheeled something close—a tall, complicated-looking machine with multiple electrodes dangling from it.

Peter eyed it warily and Norman beamed.

“Ah, you think this is interesting—You always do.” Norman patted the machine fondly. “You’re a scientist, Parker, so I assume you know how the brain and memories work. Most people think that memories are mere recordings of sensory impressions. They think that memories are fixed and unchangeable. Oh, they think you can forget where you put your keys from time to time, but it would never tell you that you left them on the moon. But they’re wrong.”

Peter jerked his head away when Norman made as if to stick an electrode on his head. It was a futile gesture, and Norman simply held his head still with his free hand and pressed the electrode on with the other.

“Your precious memories can easily be stolen from you,” Norman continued conversationally, placing the rest of the electrodes carefully and successfully, despite Peter’s thrashing. “Enough trauma, enough horror, enough physical damage—all these things can reshape landscape of your brain. Physically and metaphorically, of course. But the brain, in a way, still heals, bridging gaps with whatever scraps may be lying around just to make sense of all that’s left. False memories—there’s plenty of research.”

Peter glared at him. It was the only recourse left. He would have yelled, but his tongue felt loose in his mouth. It occurred to him that Norman probably couldn’t even see his expression but he did it anyway.

“Anyway, with the right tools and the right conditions, it can be very easy to change how a man remembers himself.  You can make them forget massive, life-changing accidents, for instance. Give them an irrational fear of the very symbol they once embraced. You can even make them lose half of who they are.”

Norman rose and fiddled with the projector. “It’s lovely chatting with you, Peter. But I hope you can forgive me running out on you for a bit. I won’t be long, and then we can continue this conversation. In the meantime, just relax, and maybe you’ll have some lovely dreams.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice, his breath stirring the hair on Peter’s temple. “How do spiders sound?  A hundred of them, a million, enough to fill this room? I know, I know. They’re terrible creatures, are they not? Watching you with their beady eyes, waiting to snag you and wrap you up until you’re nothing but dried up skin and bones.”

Peter’s breath stuck in his throat, the image springing to his mind against his will.  He could almost feel them, their hairy legs brushing across his throat, sharp, chitinous ends digging into his skin. He could breathe them in. They could fill his lungs.

He should let them, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. Stop fighting. Then maybe it would all be over.

The lights went out, and with nothing else to see, the spiders filled his vision.

“Sweet dreams, Pete,” Norman chuckled, his voice almost a purr.

For the second time that day, Peter spiralled into darkness, Norman’s voice blending with his imagination until his mind mercifully blacked out and he knew nothing at all.

 

+

 

He woke up feeling like hell.  His head hurt, his back hurt, his  _ everything _ hurt.  Groaning, Peter opened his eyes.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he heard Harry’s voice say, and it sounded relieved.

Peter squinted against the bright fluorescent lights overhead until someone switched it off, leaving the room illuminated only by another bank of lights off to one side. He was lying on a white exam table in what appeared to be a clinic. “What. The hell. Happened?” He remembered stumbling out onto the garden and then—nothing.

Harry’s face popped into view and he opened his mouth to explain.

“Low blood sugar,” someone else said, beating him to it, and a second Osborn face popped up. Norman smiled down at him. “You need to take care of yourself better, Mr. Parker. Here—”

Peter sat up and accepted the glass of water he was offered.  He should drink, even though some stubborn part of him rankled at being told to.  Especially by  _ Norman _ , of all people. “You’re probably right.”

“It’s fortunate I found you before you fainted right off the balcony.”

Peter had a vague memory of looking down at the ground. How it had seemed to rise up to greet him. “I’m very happy my brains are still inside my head, thanks.”

Harry flinched but Norman laughed.

“How do you feel? Still dizzy? Headache?” Norman asked. “You’re in the company infirmary and we’re well-equipped.”

Peter took stock of himself as he gulped down the water. There was a dull, low-level throb in the back of his head but he could easily ignore it, and his body aches were subsiding with every movement, probably just stiff from being so still. “No. I think I’m good. I’m really sorry about this. I...guess I should sleep better and eat on time.”

Norman patted him on the arm. “You should. Harry.”

“I’ll get him home, Dad. You should get back to the party.”

Norman left.

Peter cocked his head, remembering something.  “Wait. Why are you here? Your father told me earlier you weren’t feeling well.” Looking at Harry, Peter thought he did seem rather tired and pale.

“I was. But the family doctor works here, and we have all the best facilities. They were running tests.”

Peter put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice anything was wrong. Is it—Are you okay?”

“It’s probably just my seasonal allergies acting up again,” Harry said, shrugging his hand off. “You know me. One glimpse of flowers and I choke up. Come on. Let’s get you down from there. There’s a car waiting to take you home downstairs.”

Home. He was supposed to be somewhere else, do something else—

“Johnny,” he blurted out, jumping off the exam table so quickly, Harry’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his face. “I have to see Johnny. I promised—”

“Whoa, there, Romeo,” Harry said dryly, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You just fainted.  I really don’t think you’re in any shape for  _ that _ .”

Peter frowned at him. “You don’t understand. I—We—I said some horrible things.”

“So...just another Tuesday, then?”

“Harry.”

“You’re going home, Peter.  Whatever it is you need to tell Storm can wait.”

Peter started to push past him, but he stumbled over his own feet and the world seemed to tilt from side to side.  He crashed into a steel medicine cabinet next, sending boxes of latex gloves to the floor.

“See?” Harry said, grabbing him again. “In no shape. Let’s get you home and I’ll tuck you in and tomorrow you can apologize to your boyfriend for being a dick.”

Peter let Harry prop him up and steer him to the door, hating himself for being so weak. He’ll call Johnny. As soon as he got home, he would call and explain.

Or at least, that had been the plan. Back at his apartment, Harry dumped him in his bed and took away his phone, swatting away his hands and his weak protests.

“Sleep. Now,” Harry ordered firmly.

Peter meant to argue with him, he really did.  But his body, he realized, didn’t always take orders from his mind.   _ Tomorrow _ , was his final thought.   _ First thing. _  And then sleep — true sleep — came, his bones sinking into the mattress.

_ Tomorrow. _

 

+

 

Sue Storm was standing just outside the elevator to the FF’s headquarters in the Baxter Building when it spat Peter out the next day.  She was frowning, both disapproving and disappointed. Peter almost preferred her angry, it made him feel so bad.

“He stayed up all night,” Sue told him, arms crossed.  “Because you said you were coming. And then you didn’t.”

Peter winced. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it. I tried but—”

Sue raised a hand. “I’m not the one you need to explain yourself to,” she said, and jerked her head in the direction of Johnny’s apartments.

“You’re letting me see him?” Peter asked, surprised.

“Could I stop you?”

“With a force field, probably.  But I wouldn’t make it easy.”

Sue cracked a smile at that. “Pretty bold claim. I’m almost tempted to watch you try.” She stepped aside. “But I really don’t think it would be in Johnny’s best interest.”

Peter gave her one last grateful glance and swept past, hurrying to Johnny’s room. It was a good sign that Johnny had waited for him, wasn’t it? That meant he was willing to listen, to work things out. Maybe even to forgive Peter for being a monumental jerk.

He took a deep breath and knocked on his door. “Johnny. It’s me. Can I come in?”

There was a moment of silence during which Peter wondered if he was even awake. But then a small voice barely recognizable as Johnny’s called out. “Okay.”

Peter slowly opened the door and slipped inside. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. More of a disaster, perhaps, but there was Johnny—just lying curled up in the middle of his bed, lit up by the TV screen and a bedside lamp. All the curtains were shut tight and his laptop and a copy of  _ Webs! _ were on Johnny’s bed, but otherwise, everything seemed…normal.

Peter stood uncertainly near the foot of the bed.  _ Hi, how are you doing?  _ seemed to be an awful way to start, but nothing else was coming to mind.

Johnny sat up, sniffling, and Peter saw that his eyes were red-rimmed, his nose rubbed raw and peeling. All standard signs of crying your eyes out. “Hey.” His voice sounded both nasal and scratchy. More hallmarks of crying.

“Hey.”

“I thought...I thought you weren’t coming after all.”

Peter, already feeling like a massive heel, felt even worse at hearing him sound so dejected, as if he’d already resigned himself to disappointment. “I was—You know what? It almost doesn’t even matter why I couldn’t make it. I’m sorry I didn’t. I wanted to, but I was sick and—” He stopped, letting out a loud breath through his nose. “You have to believe that I wanted to be here.”

Johnny hesitated before moving over, patting the space beside him. “Sit here?”

Peter sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, keeping his feet planted on the floor, just in case Johnny changed his mind and wanted to set him on fire. “I’m sorry I said those things.”

Johnny looked down, the fingers of one hand picking at the bedspread. “You were right, though. I kind of hate that about you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m—” Peter broke off at Johnny’s glare. “Okay.”

“I don’t want him to be dead,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“But what I want doesn’t count for anything, does it?” Johnny asked bitterly.

“It depends on what that is, Johnny.”

Johnny blinked at him. “I’m not sure you’re not a hallucination.”

“Give me a few more minutes and I’ll think of something annoying to say.”

Johnny only looked more serious. “I’m glad you’re here, but I’m also…not.”

“I’d say that makes no sense but it also does.”

Johnny groaned and buried his face in Peter’s upper arm. “Do you really think you’re funny?”

“I wasn’t trying to be. Just my mouth goes on autopilot sometimes,” Peter admitted. He lifted one leg onto the bed, leaned back against the headboard and raised his arm, letting Johnny settle against him in the crook of his shoulder, Peter’s hand light on the back of his head. “Do you want to explain or should we just leave it at that?”

“I’ve already been a completely selfish jerk to you. I can’t cry on your shoulder.  But…”

“But?”

“There’s no one else here,” he mumbled. “I can’t talk to Sue. I don’t think I can stand seeing her feel sorry for me. And—”

“And what?”

“You’re the only one who ever told me what I needed to hear. You didn’t care that it wasn’t a nice thing to say.”

He laughed past the lump of shame in his throat. “That’s me. Indiscriminate dick.”

“I’m not insulting you, Pete. I’m…trying to thank you, actually.”

“Thank me…for being awful and saying awful things?”

“It was the kindest thing you could say.”

Peter thought back to what Sue had told him. Had telling Johnny a hard truth he refused to face truly been kind?

“I know you don’t like talking about him, but...I have to tell you, okay?”

Peter looked at him warily. “Tell me what?”

“You asked me once if I was in love with Spider-Man. And maybe I was. Or maybe I  _ could  _ have been. But I  _ did _ love him. Even without knowing his face and name. He was my best friend.”

Peter clenched his jaw. “I see.”

“I don’t think I can really just forget him. There’s so much just left...hanging there. And I really want to know what happened to him. I want to find out.”

Peter looked down the bedspread at his book next to Johnny’s laptop and felt goosebumps once again. That fleeting, skittering feeling along the back of his neck. He shuddered involuntarily.

Johnny frowned at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—I’m fine,” he lied. “Can we—can we just talk about something else?”

Johnny stared at him, and Peter could see a sort of understanding dawn on his face and wondered if Johnny  _ did _ understand. Probably not. He probably assumed Peter’s feelings about Spider-Man were similar to his. Most people did.

“We’re a mess, aren’t we?” Johnny whispered sympathetically.

Peter didn’t bother to try to correct his impression. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they could move past the topic, the better. “So...what now, Johnny?  What...what do you want?”

Johnny inhaled deeply.  “Before we get to that, I have something else I need to tell you, and since you’ve been so honest with me, I think I should be honest with you.”

Peter steeled himself.  This was it, he supposed.  The moment Johnny told him their whole thing was over.

“I never mentioned it before because I didn’t want to freak you out but... I think you should know because—Because it’s what made this whole thing  _ so _ much more complicated than I thought it would be.”

Peter frowned. That didn’t sound like  _ “go away, I never want to see you again” _ but was still not in any way reassuring.  “That sounds...dramatic.”

Johnny elbowed him and he grunted in response. “Remember that time I slept over?”

He blinked. “Maybe be more specific?”

“I’m talking about the time I actually  _ just _ slept over.”

“You mean when you stole my ESU hoodie.” Peter narrowed his eyes.  “ _ Did _ you steal it or did you burn it?”

“I didn’t  _ burn _ it,” he huffed, pulling away so he could glower at him. “It’s safe.”

Peter bit back a smile. Unless Johnny was on fire, he was about as threatening as a furious puppy. “That’s good, because it looked great on you.”

“Don’t distract me.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Peter said. “Continue?”

Johnny squinted at him before slowly leaning back in, putting his head back on Peter’s shoulder. “Remember when I told you that this black hole appeared and we went through?”

“The one where your powers didn’t work right.”

Johnny nodded, his blond hair brushing against Peter’s face. It tickled. “Reed found a way to draw the next portal so it would appear in the Baxter Building, where I guess he thought civilians would be safe from it.”

“Let me guess. The FF,  _ professional _ explorers that you are, went in again?”

“No.” He was quiet for a second. “I went in alone.”

“They let you go by yourself?”

Johnny buried his face in Peter’s chest. “They didn’t know,” he said, his voice muffled. “They weren’t here.”

“But...why? You hated it.”

Johnny didn’t move or speak.

Peter reached up and gently nudged his chin upward. Johnny refused to look him in the eye. “Johnny?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled at last. “It doesn’t matter why. What matters is...it was different.”

“Different how?”

Johnny pulled Peter’s hand away from his face but then didn’t let it go. “Reed said it was his device. It unintentionally stabilized the dimensional gate so it actually punched through universes instead of just getting stuck at some point in the Darkforce Dimension.”

Peter straightened up. “So you...ended up in an alternate universe? An alternate reality? Do you guys realize what a big deal that is? Where’s the device? Is it still—”

“Peter,” Johnny interrupted, sounding pained.

He blinked, excitement dying down to a simmer. “Sorry, sorry. Keep going.”

“It opened to another Baxter Building. Somewhere similar but not the same.” Johnny looked him in the face, eyes intent as if to gauge his reaction. “You were there.”

“Me?”

“It belonged to you.”

“The Baxter Building...belonged to me?”

Johnny nodded.

“But...what about you guys? Where were the FF?”

“There was no FF anymore, Pete. There was just...There was just me and Ben. And apparently not even Ben, not really.”

“Johnny.”

He made a face and wiped at the corners of his eyes. “Anyway, it’s not about who wasn’t there. It’s about who  _ was _ .”

“I was there.”

Johnny’s eyes fixed on his. “Yeah. You were.”

“What was other me like? Just as hot?” Peter asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Johnny snorted. Not quite a laugh, but it was a start. “He seemed...tired.”

“Yeah, well, I can relate.”

Johnny’s fingertips were suddenly brushing his cheek, right along the ridge of bone just under his eye. “He was hurt. Right here.”

Peter remembered then, his strange fixation with that part of his face in the days that had followed. “Did he get into a fistfight or something?”

“He said it was someone named Piledriver.”

“I hope other me isn’t doing stupid shit like cage fighting wrestlers.”

“I could see it,” Johnny said. “He seemed more than a little aggressive, honestly.”

“Unlike me?”

Johnny stared at him incredulously.

“How am I aggressive?”

“That’s not the  _ point _ .”

“Then what is?”

“ _ You _ were there. You bought the Baxter Building for me—”

“For  _ you?” _

“For my family,” Johnny clarified. “But it was the same thing. Everyone there—they’d left Johnny Storm behind. But not you. You stayed. You kept my home safe. And I don’t know what we were to each other there. I got the feeling he and his Johnny didn’t have this...arrangement. But there was something, I think.”

Peter studied his face, noting the strangely wistful expression on it. “What does it have to do with you and me, here and now?”

Johnny looked down at his hand, fingers curling into Peter’s shirt. “It made me realize that I didn’t want what you and I had anymore.”

Peter blinked. “What a roundabout way to tell me you’re done with me,” he said, and was surprised by how he managed to keep any kind of bitterness out of his voice. He started to get up, but Johnny’s hand clutched his shirt even tighter, and he threw half of his body on top of Peter’s, anchoring him.

“You’re not listening,” Johnny said desperately. “I don’t want that stupid casual fuck buddies thing anymore. I want to take back all that dumb shit about just having fun. I’m admitting that I’m an  _ idiot _ .”

“What?”

“This  _ isn’t  _ fun, Peter,” he said, with a sound that was half-groan and half-laugh. “It’s not, because every time I look at you, I just think about how miserable it would be to not have you anymore. And then I feel like shit because you’re not mine at all. This isn’t fun because I want more.”

“More than I can give you?” Peter asked hollowly.

“More than I’ve asked of you before,” Johnny corrected him gently.

“Johnny.”

Johnny rolled him onto his back, pushing him into the mattress. “Ask me out again, Pete.”

Peter swallowed past the small rock lodged in his throat. “Johnny. Do you want to go out with me? On a date. A real one, where I pick you up and wine and dine you and kiss you goodnight?”

“Do I get flowers?”

“You can get anything you want,” Peter said honestly.

Johnny’s eyes softened, and he cupped Peter’s face in his hands. “I just want you.”

Peter reached up and brushed a lock of yellow-gold hair back from his forehead, hoping Johnny wouldn’t notice his trembling fingers. “Are you sure about this, firefly?”

Johnny looked down at him. “A thousand percent.”

“That’s mathematically impossible, but okay.”

He rolled his eyes. “And with that, it just went down to a thousandth of a percent.”

Peter curled his hand around the back of Johnny’s neck. “I’ll take that,” he said quietly, and pulled him down, bumping Johnny’s forehead against his own. “I’ll take as much or as little as you want to give.”

Johnny kissed him softly. “Thank you,” he whispered. And the way Johnny looked at him made him feel like he’d been stripped bare, flayed down to muscle and sinew, down to nothing but a beating heart.

Peter wanted to say something. Something crazy and maybe entirely inappropriate at this point. Something frightening and devastatingly true, even if it seemed sudden or irrational. 

With great effort, he bit his tongue. It would be stupid to say. Johnny wouldn’t believe him, at best. He would be scared off, at worst. 

Instead, he tucked Johnny’s head just under his chin and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth between them. Johnny’s body sank into his, fitting into every curve, almost as if they were perfect halves of the same shattered whole.

 

+

 

Peter was just leaving the Baxter Building half an hour later when his phone rang, and he  paused on the sidewalk to dig it out of his pocket. Harry.

“Hey,” he said, picking up. He lifted his head and absently scanned the windows, idly trying to determine which one was Johnny’s, or if Johnny could see him from up there. “I was just on my way to work. What’s up? Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, the doc gave me a vitamin shot yesterday…Hey, Pete. Listen. Liz wants to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. She says we haven’t gone out together in a while and you need a break.”

Peter winced. Harry liked dragging him along to dinners with Liz under the misguided notion that it made Peter feel less lonely, when third-wheeling at your best friend’s date with his fiancée only ever did the opposite. He glanced up at the Baxter Building again, and wondered if he’d just imagined an orange flare high in the upper floors.

“And you know I agree with her,” Harry went on. “You don’t exactly have a social life.”

“You’re going to want to take that back when I ask you if I can bring a date.”

There was a pause. “Did you  _ finally _ meet someone or is the world ending?”

“Very funny. Can I?”

“Pete. Liz has been wondering if we should surprise you with a blind double date for years. Maybe now she can quit stressing about it and stop yelling ‘I told you we should’ve’ at me every time we drop you off.”

“Wow. Somehow, I’m only slightly offended,” Peter said. 

“So who’s the lucky lady? Someone I know?”

“Not a lady,” Peter told him.

“Pete. Pete, you don’t mean Johnny _ Storm _ ? _ ” _

“Maybe.”

“The Human  _ Torch _ .”

“Yes, and if you say his name like that one more time, I’m  _ really _ going to be offended.”

“You’re—You’re dating him. It’s not just—you know.”

“Yes.”

“Okay...okay,” Harry said slowly. “Bring him. I’d love to ask him a few questions.”

“Oh, no.”

“Maybe tell him a few embarrassing stories.”

“I can embarrass myself without your help.”

“Pete.”

He stopped, noting the serious undercurrent in his friend’s voice. “Yeah?”

“You deserve to be happy.”

Peter glanced at his phone, taken aback and unsure how to respond. “Harry...I...I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and just like that his voice was back to normal. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

+

 

Johnny got to the restaurant first. Peter was surprised to see him already there, swirling a glass of red wine, when he arrived. He looked great, as usual. Casually looking perfect amidst other people visibly trying to achieve the same with varying degrees of success was just a Johnny Storm thing.

“Someone’s excited,” Peter said, taking the seat next to his.

“It’s called being bored with nothing to do back home,” he shrugged. “That’s a nice shirt.”

Peter glanced down at his plain blue shirt, still perplexed by what made it different from other blue shirts.

“How much did you tip the shopper who picked that?”

“Anna Maria looked it up on a website for me and told me to get it. She’s amazing.”

Johnny leaned one arm on the table and drained his glass of wine, eyeing him appreciatively. “I’ll say, if she picked your entire outfit.”

Anna Maria had, after Peter had told her about the date, and she’d looked him up and down and said, “I hope you’re planning on wearing something better than that.”

“She’s getting like half a dozen bonuses already. Guess I’ll add another,” Peter said.

“Believe me. It’s well-deserved,” Johnny smirked. He looked him over slowly in a way that had Peter feeling hot under the collar.

It was a little strange, having a casual conversation with Johnny that wasn’t a mere prelude to sex. There was suddenly pressure where there hadn’t been any before. The need to make a good impression. To not disappoint him. To make him have a good time.

Johnny suddenly put a hand on his knee and squeezed. “Pete. I can see you thinking and before you spiral off into a crisis, you should know nothing’s different, okay?”

He returned Johnny’s look doubtfully.

Johnny sighed and moved closer. “Listen. I’ve thought about it a lot since yesterday.  And you know, it’s still you and me, and we’ve been hanging out for weeks.”

_ “Hanging out,” _ Peter echoed with air quotes, and Johnny shoved his hands down.

“If you can be smart with me, then you shouldn’t be this nervous.”

Peter laughed. “I get worse when I’m nervous, Johnny.”

“I noticed. And you really shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to mess up.  I already know you won’t disappoint me in bed. I know you’ll drive me crazy with all your dumb opinions about which pizza places make ‘real’ New York pizza and which do not.  Most of all, I already know you’re a rude, annoying, smart-mouthed nerd who’ll slowly drive me insane. In fact, I knew that last part before I ever decided to sleep with you.”

“I think that last bit there sums up the beginning of every relationship Peter Parker ever had with a blond,” a voice said by their table, amused.

The two of them looked up.

“It doesn’t sum up ours,” Liz Allan said.

“You’ve always been the exception to many,  _ many _ rules,” Harry told her fondly. “You’re early, Pete.”

“I’m right on time, Harry,” Peter said, getting up to hug Liz. “You’re just late.”

Johnny cleared his throat and Peter, despite what other people said of him, knew how to take a hint and introduced them, watching the round of handshakes that followed, before sitting down again.

“Look, I’m really dying to know,” Harry began, ignoring the menu that had just been handed to him. “But I have no idea where this came from.” He waved a hand at the two of them. “I didn’t even think you’d know each other. But, at the launch, Peter called you an old friend.”

Johnny snorted “I’m pretty sure it was just because it’s easier to say than dude-whose-girlfriend-I-made-moves-on-in-high-school.”

Harry looked surprised. “Whoa. We have to go that far back?”

“For the last time, I wasn’t making a move on Dorrie Evans.”

Johnny frowned at him and turned back to Harry. “I mostly just found him insufferable. That’s how it was for a few years. He still is, really. I guess I’m just more tolerant with maturity.”

Harry blinked then laughed. “Okay. I didn’t really believe you actually had more than a passing acquaintance with each other until that.”

“Hey,” Peter protested. “How am I insufferable?”

They ignored his question. 

Liz bit her lip, trying not to laugh when Peter looked at her beseechingly. “There, there. I’m sure they’re just teasing you,” she said, patting him fondly on the cheek.

“We’re not, and that’s part of what I’m talking about,” Johnny groaned as Harry nodded.

“Happens all the time,” Harry said cryptically. “You know what, I’ll buy you a drink. You deserve one. Hell, you probably deserve twelve.”

Johnny tipped his empty wine glass at Harry in salute.

Peter had a horrible feeling that he was going to regret this.

 

+

 

“They’re lovely,” Johnny said two hours later, standing outside the restaurant as Harry and Liz drove away. “When you told me your best friend was an Osborn, I thought you must be out of your mind.”

“What’s wrong with being an Osborn?”

Johnny opened his mouth but then looked at his face and shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind. I don’t really know anything besides Reed’s opinions on Norman. Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

Peter frowned at him. “Okay. How about you tell me how I’m insufferable?”

“Oh, come on. You’re still stuck on that?”

“Yes!”

Johnny rolled his eyes and tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s take a walk and  _ maybe _ I’ll tell you.”

It was a nice night out and Johnny was the best company Peter could ask for. He couldn’t have said no—not that he even wanted to.

They walked slowly down the street, headed vaguely towards the river. They were close enough to touch, but didn’t. Peter wished he could take Johnny’s hand, but he’d thrust them in his pockets.

“You know there are supposed to be an infinite number of universes out there, right?” Johnny asked suddenly as they rounded a corner onto a path that cut through a wide, grassy lawn. Peter could see the water not far off, glinting in the moonlight.

“Yeah? I mean, in theory. Or—well, I guess after what you told me it’s not just a theory, huh?”

“No.” Johnny glanced at him. “Do you think, somewhere out there, there’s a you and me who went about this the easy way?”

“Anything is possible, I guess,” Peter said, an indescribable feeling in his chest at the thought of “you and me” being Peter Parker and Johnny Storm.

Johnny picked up the pace, moving quickly until they reached the riverside walkway, and stopped, resting his arms on the railing. “Maybe there’s a you and me who’ve never met. Who’ll never meet.”

“There are thousands, probably.”

“Guess that makes us two of the luckier ones, then. In spite of everything.”

Lucky. Peter had never thought of himself as that.  “Do you really think we’re lucky we know each other?”

Johnny gave him a weird look. “Don’t you?  Don’t you think it’s a good thing?”

He thought it was one of the best things to ever happen to him.  “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Johnny turned to face the river. “Maybe there’s a you and me who have met but still don’t like each other. That’s…even worse.”

“Isn’t that where we started from?”

“Yeah, but what if they never moved past that phase?”

“I don’t think there’s a me who could ever truly hate you, Johnny.”

“Yeah, I  _ am _ pretty loveable,” he said, glancing at Peter with a cheeky grin. “But you—”

“Let me guess. I’m insufferable.”

“Exactly.”

Peter moved closer, eyes fixed on Johnny’s profile, soft in the fuzzy glow of street lamps and the moonlight. “You’re not going to tell me the reason why, are you?”

Johnny laughed. “Believe it or not, you not knowing is part of what makes you actually tolerable. Because if you were more self-aware, we’d be in trouble.”

“Okay. Keep your little inside joke with Harry about how horrible I am,” he said, giving up.

“Thanks.”

They stood quietly, Johnny watching the lights on the water, Peter watching the lights on Johnny’s face.

“I don’t think there’s a me who could really hate you, either, Peter,” Johnny said softly, after a while. “I mean, that would be awful. Every me should have sex with you at least once.”

Peter groaned and Johnny tipped his head back and laughed.

“You should be flattered. I meant that as a compliment and it’s the last you’ll ever get from me if that’s how you take them.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, I guess.”

Johnny grinned up at him, luminous in the dim light. “So what are we doing for the second date?”

“Oh, the  _ second _ date? Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? First date could still end in complete disaster.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’d allow it,” said Johnny with a smile so open, Peter thought it was a wonder he was allowed to exist. That amount of radiance belonged up in the sky, not down here on the ground.

And all at once he couldn’t help it anymore. Here was Johnny, achingly beautiful and perfect, looking up at him as if he, Peter Parker, could do anything. Stop the earth from spinning. Stretch out this moment to last forever. Make Johnny Storm happy.

Peter kissed him, partly to make the painful longing in his chest stop, partly to try to make the lingering sadness in Johnny’s eyes go away. Johnny’s mouth opened slowly beneath his, still a little bit hesitant, still a little bit afraid to throw himself all the way in.

He pulled away first, resting his forehead against Johnny’s, catching his breath.

“Peter?” Johnny whispered.

Peter willed himself to stop right there. He wanted more. With Johnny, he wanted everything. But it wasn’t the right time for it, not yet. Not with so many things still unresolved. Not when Johnny was still thinking of someone else. Otherwise, they’d be right back where they had started and nothing would have changed. “How about kayaking?”

“What?”

“For the second date.”

“How about I throw you into this river right now?”

“Not romantic enough?”

Johnny’s stare was flinty.

Peter tucked Johnny’s arm under his and pulled him away from the rail, back into a walk. “The theater, maybe?”

“Depends on the show, but honestly, no. Can’t talk to you. Can’t even look at you.”

“MOMA?” Peter asked, desperate.

“You’ll make fun of every piece of art you don’t understand, won’t you?” Johnny asked.

“Maybe? Just a little?”

“You’ll probably get us thrown out.”

“I wouldn’t make a  _ scene _ .”

“You’ll embarrass me one way or another.”

“Wow, you really think—”

“It sounds perfect. I’m in.”

“You are really weird.”

Johnny laughed again and gently nudged his elbow. “Day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I can…move things around.”

Johnny pulled him to a stop. “Hey.”

Peter glanced back at him, halfway into a step.

“Kiss me again?”

He turned around, happy to oblige, and kissed him, one hand on his hip, the other in his hair. This time, when Johnny kissed him back, there was a little less hesitation. A little less fear.

This time, when Johnny broke the kiss, he was smiling.

Peter could do this. However slowly it would take. If it meant, in the end, that Johnny would be smiling at him, just like that.


	9. Chapter 9

Johnny hesitated at the threshold to Reed’s labs. The last time he’d been there had been the day he’d crossed through the portal. As far as he knew, Reed had moved it to a place where Johnny didn’t have access.  Johnny couldn’t even be mad about that, even though it was pointless. None of them knew that he’d lost interest in it the moment he had crossed through into another universe, rather than the nothing he’d been hoping to find.

His brother-in-law glanced up when Johnny finally entered.  He was working on some sort of mixture in a beaker, the workbench a mess of glassware and burners and teflon tubing.  “Hello, Johnny. Can I help you with something?”

Johnny frowned, ignoring the question for the moment, and stepped closer, peering gingerly into a flask.  “What are you doing?”

“Just a project Peter helped me out with.  Speaking of, how have things been? You’re going out today with him on, what, the fourth date?”

Johnny was surprised his family was keeping count. “Yep. Fourth date. Date number four.” He waggled the appropriate number of fingers.

Reed looked at him oddly. “And? Have you been having fun?”

Johnny smiled at him. “It’s been great.  Gonna marry him and have half a dozen babies.”

Reed frowned.

The problem with living in a tower with a very observant super-genius was that it was extremely difficult to lie to him when he was actually paying attention, and Johnny had never been very good at hiding his feelings or cultivating a poker face in the first place.

It was only  _ partly _ a lie. Peter was wonderful. He was considerate (if he wanted to be) and he made Johnny laugh. He always came up with fun stuff for them to do, and kept him occupied enough that Johnny only spent maybe twenty percent of the time accidentally thinking about Spider-Man.

Johnny didn’t want to think about Spider-Man at all, not when Peter was talking to him or kissing him or just standing around. But it was as though a switch had been turned on in his head, ever since the aftermath of their failed first date. Maybe the memories were resurfacing so violently because Johnny wanted them gone even when there was still so much left unresolved. It was bad enough to get in the way of their sex life, and that was precisely what had finally brought him to Reed.

Reed looked away when it became clear Johnny wasn’t going to say anything more. “So I assume this visit is about something else.  What is it?”

He hesitated again. He’d spent the last week thinking about it, and he still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or if he was ready. But then he needed to be ready. Because maybe if he did this, he could finally put all thoughts of Spider-Man to rest and move on with his life. He squared his shoulders and plunged ahead. “I need to know what happened to Spider-Man.”

Reed set the beaker down. “You’ve come to me about this before.”

“Three months after he disappeared, when the trail had long gone cold, I know. And I know it’s only more difficult now. But did you really not look into it sooner? I was stupid and selfish and for the first month I thought he’d been purposely avoiding me. Then I was distracted checking out all the crazy impostors that kept popping up later on but...Did no one else care that he vanished?”

Reed grimaced. “I  _ did  _ look into it, but I’m ashamed to admit I could have looked harder and spent more time. Before you told us what happened between you two, I thought he must have retired or taken a break and just never considered the other possibilities.  I’m sorry, Johnny.”

Johnny waved a hand. “We’ve all been pretty shitty friends. You don’t need to apologize to  _ me _ .  But do you have something? Anything?”

“I only have conjecture, and at least a hundred different possible scenarios. Perhaps I should have paid attention to more leads, but you must understand there are a  _ lot _ of rumors and false information circulating about him and it’s difficult to wade through them all.”

“Well...which one do you believe is most likely?”

Reed hesitated, looking back down at his bench set-up, at the fluids steadily circulating and bubbling. “I don’t really know, Johnny. But—”

“But?”

Reed pushed away from what he was working on and headed for a different table where his tablet computer was. “If you can tell me the exact date you last saw him, I can optimize the search and narrow things down.”

The date and time had been carved into Johnny’s mind and heart.  He didn’t even have to think and just gave it immediately.

Reed entered it into his tablet. “And where was this?”

They’d hitched a ride back on the last ferry after all that making out they did on the Statue of Liberty. Spider-Man had done the Spider-Man equivalent of walking Johnny home and had raced with him to the Baxter Building. Johnny had won, of course. He’d half-hoped that Spider-Man would want to come in, but he’d simply given Johnny a jaunty salute and had thrown himself off the rooftop. 

Johnny could still see him in his mind’s eye, red and blue suit turned different shades of purple by the evening light, graceful and breathtaking as he spun in a corkscrew dive mid-air.  He’d been showing off, knowing Johnny was watching. “Swinging away from the Baxter Building,” he answered. “Heading west.”

Reed typed it in. “Okay. Give me a few hours and my program  _ should _ give us a list of leads worth checking out.  But I’m warning you. They may not lead to anything.  I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“This isn’t about that, Reed,” Johnny said. “I just think I owe him that much, at least.  And maybe...Maybe it would be easier to put it behind me if I…”

“I understand,” Reed assured him, setting the tablet down and walking back to the other bench and picking up the beaker again.  It was a clear but polite dismissal.

Johnny lingered.

“He asked me, you know,” he blurted out, just as Reed was gingerly dropping a liquid into the beaker.

Reed took a deep breath and carefully set both beaker and dropper back down. “What?”

“Spider-Man. He asked me if I wanted to see...what was under the mask.  _ Who. _ I keep thinking I should have taken him up on the offer. Missed opportunity, right?”

“He asked you and you said no.”

“Was I wrong?”

“Johnny, if he asked you, and he didn’t offer to do it anyway, he probably wasn’t ready.”

“I know,” he said at once. “I  _ know _ . I just think sometimes...What if he has a family? Other friends? And they have no idea what happened to him, either? Maybe there’s someone out there who knows how I feel and they don’t even have all these resources. People...People should know.”

Reed stared at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was kind, almost gentle. “A few hours. Go on your date. Have fun. Then come back and we’ll look at the list together. Okay?”

Kind as it was, it was still a dismissal, and a less subtle one at that.  Johnny left him to whatever it was he was doing and headed back towards his room to get ready.

He ran into Sue as he left the elevator. His sister looked uncharacteristically frazzled. “Hey. What’s up?”

Sue blinked at him. “Oh, it’s just the Mayor. Jameson wants the team to join him for lunch and we’re already in hot water for letting three blocks get temporarily thrown back in time last week.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, taken aback. “But—”

“It’s fine, Johnny.  You don’t have to come,” Sue said dismissively, already striding past him. “Have fun on your date.”

“Are you sure?” Johnny called after her.

Waving one hand, she pressed a button with the other, and the elevator doors slid shut.

Johnny couldn’t believe his luck and fled from the spot just in case Sue changed her mind. A choice between lunch with Jonah Jameson and Peter Parker wasn’t a difficult choice to make at all.

 

+

 

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to get me lost in New York City,” Peter said flatly.  The sun was beating down on both their heads, fierce and relentless, and though Johnny didn’t even feel it, it was beginning to take its toll on Peter. 

Johnny was doing his best to regulate the temperature around them just because he was nice like that, but there was a familiar note of complaint in Peter’s voice that was making him rethink his kindness.

_ “Me,” _ Peter continued.  “I know this place like the back of my hand.  And I told you an hour ago there’s no venue for some science-inspired interactive art exhibit here.”

Johnny groaned.  “ _ Will _ you shut up? Look, I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, waggling his eyebrows.

“You look ridiculous.”

“ _ You _ look ridiculous,” Johnny said, squeezing his fingers.

Peter glanced down, as if suddenly remembering they were holding hands, and Johnny beamed at him when he looked back up.

“I should have searched for the address earlier,” Peter muttered, pulling out his phone.  “Should have known better than to trust your memory.”

“But I told you, I can’t remember the name of the gallery. I only know where it is.”

“You obviously  _ don’t  _ know where it is or we’d be there already,” Peter said, and fumbled with his phone one-handed.

“Good luck Googling it. I’ve tried.”

“I don’t need Google. We wrote our own search engine. It can read my mind much better.”

_ We wrote our own search engine.  _ Johnny moved his lips to the words in silent mockery. “You’re just like Reed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. There are worse people to emulate, you know.”

Johnny rubbed up against him. “We can’t all be genius tech magnates like you,” he all but purred. “Some of us have talents...in  _ different _ fields _. _ ”

“I hate you,” Peter said, shuddering as Johnny breathed into his ear. “We’re in the middle of the street. In broad daylight.”

Johnny bit his lip for good measure.

“Yeah, okay.  That’s just overdoing it.”

Johnny laughed. “So did you find it?”

“We’re  _ four _ whole blocks off, Matchstick. We went past the turn  _ twice _ .”

“Whoops?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Come on. This way.”

Johnny let him tug him along, smile playing upon his lips.  It was their fourth date and this part was still just as fun as the first time — Johnny mocking him, Peter being absolutely infuriating, and the two of them annoying every poor soul who happened to be nearby.

“Johnny, I’m going to get a serious case of sunburn and it’s going to be your fault if you keep daydreaming.”

Johnny sped up. “Sorry. I was just admiring the view.”

Peter glanced around the grimy old walls around them. “What view?”

“I was talking about your ass, but now that I think about it, that’s all of you. Your entire package. You’re an ass.”

“Thanks for ruining your own joke.”

“It was worth it. Someone had to say it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an ass, an awful person,” Peter said, sounding bored. 

“I believe the word we all agreed upon was  _ insufferable. _ ”

“You like me. What does that make you?”

“Stupid,” said Johnny promptly.

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, then. This way—two more blocks.”

Johnny followed him around a corner, the two of them lapsing into an easy companionable silence. He drew in even more of the heat, cooling the surrounding air further for Peter’s sake. He was concentrating on getting it just right when Peter stopped and Johnny, distracted, walked into his shoulder.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Peter looked at him, half-annoyed and half-amused, and slowly turned to the building before them.

Johnny’s heart sank at the closed doors and the sign hanging behind them.

Peter checked his phone then waved it in front of Johnny’s face. “Gallery’s closed on Wednesdays. It’s a Wednesday. Which of those two pieces of information did you not know?”

“I-I didn’t—I’m  _ so _ sorry. I mean—Wednesday’s such an arbitrary day to  _ not _ be open.”

“It’s fine. We can do something else.”

Johnny frowned, frustrated. “I  _ am _ stupid.”

“No, you’re not.” Peter slung an arm over his shoulder. “And it’s okay. We can go to your place and just watch a movie or something.”

“But I made you take time off. This was the first date that was  _ my _ idea and it’s a disaster!”

“Hey. It’s okay. Let’s take a cab back to the Baxter Building, all right?”

Johnny didn’t budge. “I’m sorry,” he repeated miserably. “We’ve had so much fun before and—I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Let’s be real. You and me pissing the hell out of that tour guide at MOMA and making him turn purple? Can never be topped.”

Johnny was so annoyed with himself he couldn’t even laugh at the memory. “I wasted your time.”

“I didn’t take the day off to go to some exhibit I hadn’t even heard of. I took the day off to spend it with you. And you can do whatever you want, but I’m already doing what  _ I  _ want.”

It was just the kind of thing Peter always ended up saying—something corny but delivered so earnestly and maybe a little grumpily—that Johnny found himself starting to smile.

“You’re the sweetest jerk I have ever met,” Johnny told him fondly.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush.”

“Maybe we  _ should _ just go to the Baxter Building. Have lunch. Watch a movie.” He smiled tentatively. “Maybe make out a little?”

“You had me at ‘lunch’.”

Johnny pulled him to the curb and thrust out an arm.

Miraculously, a cab appeared almost immediately and the two of them piled into the back.

“Are Sue and the others home?” Peter asked casually and Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Are you scared of my sister or something?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, you’re just as smart as I heard,” Johnny said, patting his hand on the seat. “Anyway, the team’s out to lunch with the mayor and Franklin’s with Alicia.”

Peter frowned at that. “You were supposed to have lunch with Jonah?”

“I know. I’m here with you instead. It was a difficult choice, but it’s not like I could make out with Jameson afterwards.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Johnny laughed again. It was so easy to do around him, even if he really wasn’t that funny sometimes. All Johnny had to do was glance at Peter, and he would find himself giddy like a teenager with a crush. It was disgusting. He loved it.

He nudged Peter’s elbow and gently headbutted him. “Hey.”

Peter looked at him, slightly cross-eyed because of the proximity. “What?”

Johnny leaned closer and whispered, “Let’s skip the movie and just go straight to the making out part.”

Peter snorted and whispered back, even softer. “Let’s skip the making out and go straight to lunch, I’m starving.”

Johnny groaned loudly, making the driver eyeball them through the rearview mirror. “You are.  _ Unbelievable. _ ”

Peter’s lopsided grin was simultaneously so adorable and so annoying, Johnny couldn’t stand it. He had to kiss him, just to wipe it away. And then he had to stop himself from climbing into his lap then and there because a celebrity and a start-up CEO getting arrested for indecent exposure would be perfect tabloid fodder.

By the end of the ride he’d all but forgotten being upset about the closed gallery, the two of them crossing the Baxter Building’s lobby, fingers entwined, giggling over nothing. And in the elevator, just as the doors closed to seal them in, Peter leaned over and kissed him, slow and sweet, and the gallery itself became a distant thought.

He wound his arms around Peter’s shoulders and kissed him back, open-mouthed and hopeful, feeling as if he could drift right up into the clouds even without his flames. They kissed for what felt like forever, not stopping even when the elevator pinged open on their floor and long after the doors automatically slid shut again.

But then his mind, traitorous as it was, drifted again towards that one kiss atop the Statue of Liberty, memory overlaying reality, and Johnny tore himself away.

_ It isn’t fair, _ he thought bitterly, seeing Peter’s rueful expression in the millisecond before Johnny looked away, ashamed. When he’d started sleeping with Peter as a distraction, it had worked, if only temporarily. But now it was doing the exact opposite. It was as if his mind, once having made that stupid connection after that one stupid comment, wouldn’t let it go.

Peter pressed the button to open the elevator doors again. “Listen, Johnny…”

Johnny looked at him, fighting down the panic that came almost as a reflex.

_ “Listen, Johnny, you’re a great guy, but—” _

_ “Listen, Johnny, we’ve had fun, but—” _

“You know you don’t have to force yourself,” Peter said. “If you want us to take things easy for a while, it’s fine.”

Johnny felt a pang of guilt at that. Here was Peter, patient with Johnny’s sudden reservations with physical intimacy, and completely unaware of  _ why _ it was happening.  The worst of it was that Johnny definitely  _ didn’t _ want to take things easy.  He missed having Peter in his bed.  He missed the hours and hours of ridiculously good sex. He missed the way Peter would kiss him all over when they were done, how they would wake up with their arms and legs all tangled together, and how Peter’s morning hair would always be a horrible mess that made Johnny laugh every time.

Peter cleared his throat and jerked his head through the open door. “So...lunch and a movie? Unless you just want to call it a day—that’s totally fine, too.”

“You  _ can’t  _ go,” Johnny frowned, the words almost automatic.

“Then I won’t,” he said mildly, and tugged Johnny out of the elevator.  “If you feed me.”

Johnny clutched his chest with one hand and pressed the back of the other against his forehead, pretending to swoon. “Ooh, Mr. Parker, I’ve never had a more enticing offer. A man wants to  _ stay _ in exchange for nothing more than  _ food _ . A true gentleman.”

Peter caught him, right on cue. His eyes danced. 

Johnny’s heart skipped a beat.

Peter set him back upright and continued to the living room. “First one to the couch gets to pick the movie.”

“Oh, no, we are  _ not _ watching black and white movies  _ again _ ,” Johnny groaned, scrambling ahead of him.

“They’re  _ classics _ .”

“I just want to watch something where the actors aren’t all dead,” Johnny retorted, flinging himself onto the sofa and hugging the remote control to his chest.

Peter pulled Johnny’s legs up, ignoring his outraged yelp, and sat down. He lowered Johnny’s feet onto his lap. “Okay. You win.”

“I  _ always  _ win,” Johnny told him.

“Yeah, don’t push it,” he said, but he was smiling, and Johnny just wanted to kiss him all over again.

Peter beat him to it, leaning over and planting one right on his lips, and Johnny couldn’t stop a grin from slowly taking over his face.

“What’s so funny?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just happy.”

Peter stared down at him for a long time. He tugged on a lock of Johnny’s hair once and straightened. “It looks good on you,” he said casually, and faced the TV.

The feeling wouldn’t last, he knew it, but Johnny pushed the thought away and reveled in it, in the warmth that seemed to come from somewhere else besides the heart of his powers. Maybe it wouldn’t last forever, but he could always hope.

 

+

 

Sue was going to kill them. Johnny, pushing another piece of dim sum into Peter’s mouth, couldn’t bring himself to care.

“How’s that one?”

Peter wrinkled his nose and chewed thoughtfully. “Too salty. Pass me another one of those see-through shrimp rolls.”

Johnny handed the plate over, trying his best to ignore the sea of takeout boxes (Peter’s fault) littering the living room and the soy sauce stains (Johnny’s fault) on the couch.

“You know,” Johnny said slowly, watching as Peter inhaled what remained of the shrimp rolls in one go. “I can eat just as much as you, but I can also literally burn thousands of calories in an instant. What’s your secret?”

Peter shrugged, letting Johnny poke at his abs through his shirt without comment. “Just skinny genes, I guess.” He paused. “Skinny—”

“It was a terrible pun and if you repeat it, I’m pouring this plate of tofu down your throat.”

Peter made a face at him and leaned back.

“In a few years, you’re going to hit thirty, and your twenties metabolism is going to die a horrible death. You can kiss those stupidly hot abs goodbye.”

“Isn’t that  _ your _ job?”

Johnny glared at him.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “What? You gonna quit?”

“Severely contemplating it.”

Peter snorted, tugged the plate of tofu out of his hands, and carefully set it back down on the coffee table. He leaned back once again and gestured at him. “Come here.”

Johnny snuggled in obediently, curling up by his side. Peter’s thumb pushed up under the sleeve of his t-shirt to gently trace circles on his skin. Johnny squirmed in even closer, laying his head on Peter’s shoulder. He’d put on a movie earlier, but now, even when they were both facing the TV, Johnny couldn’t remember what it was. All he could think about, while stealing his arm around Peter’s waist, was how nice it would be if this moment would never end.

As if to spite him for thinking that, a harsh ringing suddenly filled the room, startling them both.  

Peter muttered something rude under his breath and Johnny sighed, pulling away to let him dig out his phone. He frowned down at the screen. “I’m sorry, Johnny. Anna Maria wouldn’t call me unless it was important. I have to—”

Johnny waved a hand. “It’s fine. I need to get a drink, anyway,” he said, and launched himself out of the sofa.

He was in the kitchen, filling his glass with water for the second time, when Peter walked in, an apologetic expression on his face. 

_ I won’t get forever. I can’t even have one afternoon. _

“I have to go. Harry was supposed to go to a meeting later today but he called in sick and I—”

“I get it,” Johnny interrupted, directing the words to the floor.

Peter closed the distance between him, one hand settling on Johnny’s hip, the other gently tilting his chin up. “I’ll make it up to you?”

Johnny nodded and gave him what he hoped was a bright smile. “Promise?”

“I promise. Tonight. Come over?” He pulled back and looked expectantly at him.

Johnny swallowed his disappointment down. “Okay. I’ll come over. Now go, while I’ll still let you.”

Peter gave him one more kiss and slipped away. Alone, he stood in the kitchen looking blankly at the cupboards, trying to think of what to do now.

_ Cars. The garage. The— _

The list. He glanced at his watch. Three hours had passed since Reed had run the search.  Surely, the computer would have finished combing through and filtering everything by now.

Johnny set his glass down and made his way to Reed’s lab, ignoring another stab of guilt. He’d just said goodbye to Peter, and here he was thinking of Spider-Man already. This was  _ different _ , he told himself. He was doing this  _ for _ Peter and their relationship, to put all questions about Spider-Man to rest, together with all of the memories. 

He reached the lab and saw that the set-up Reed had been working on earlier had been put away, leaving the tabletops clear except for the tools and heavy machines. Reed’s tablet was still there, next to a centrifuge on the end of a bench, and Johnny went towards it.

The screen woke up at his touch after verifying his identity, and blinked on at Reed’s search results.

Reports of sightings of Spider-Man—both verified and not—after Johnny had last seen him filled the screen. Even after filtering out the less likely ones based on whatever probabilities Reed’s algorithm had calculated, there were still at least thirty leads to check out.

Thirty. Thirty was manageable. It was better than the hundreds they had turned up before Johnny had given Reed his information.

He felt another stab in his gut, more painful this time. If he’d stopped to think—If instead of being dramatic and taking his disappearance as a personal offense—If they’d just thought to check sooner—

_ He could have been in trouble. We could have helped him. Instead I just stormed all around New York City setting the sky on fire, thinking that was enough. _

Johnny felt like someone had kicked the breath out of him. Maybe he’d been right all along. Maybe Spider-Man being gone had been his fault after all. Maybe—

His train of thought was abruptly cut off by the shrill alarm suddenly screaming overhead, and Reed’s tablet flashed red.

It was the intruder alert.

Johnny glanced up at the ceiling and started tapping fiercely on the surface of the tablet to access the report.  According to the security system, the breach was in the next lab where Reed worked on his crazier inventions and machines.  He mentally ran through the list of all the dangerous things in it and decided there were far too many.

_ What if it’s a Negative Zone breach? A Negative Zone breach and it’s just me. _

The security system would have notified the others through their phone, but any intruder from the Negative Zone was unlikely to wait for their return before wreaking havoc. Johnny dropped the tablet and flew down the hall.  Whatever it was, Johnny would need to hold them off until the rest of the team came back. He had to.

He rocketed into the room, reining in his flames to avoid melting machinery, and ran to the monitors.

Nothing. The entrance to the Negative Zone remained secure.

Johnny blinked and checked and checked again.  All signs still pointed to a security breach in the area he was in, but the Negative Zone stayed suspiciously quiet. Johnny stepped back, worrying at a knuckle. He could unlock the door to the room with the portal to verify with his own two eyes, but that was asking for trouble.  He wasn’t going to be the stupid kid who fell for the obvious trap yet again. He was just about to run another sweep of the monitors when he heard a loud bang right behind him. 

Johnny whirled to face the wall, burning hotter when he saw the massive dent on the solid steel barrier. He gaped at it, puzzled. There wasn’t supposed to be anything there _ — _ just wiring and plumbing and—

_ Oh. Oh, no. _

Reed had moved the wall.  He’d built a second one with a hidden door, reducing the size of the main room, to hide one thing from Johnny,  _ specifically _ .  Because they thought Johnny couldn’t be trusted with it right out in the open, not after what he had done last time.

There was another bang, and a seam cracked open where the hidden door did.  There was a horrific metallic noise as the door itself was torn off its heavy steel hinges, and Johnny stepped backward, raising his temperature even higher.

For a moment, all was still, no sound other than the sizzle and pop of his own flames. And then someone was walking out of the gap, a figure Johnny knew almost as well as his own.  Johnny flamed off instantly, his heart suddenly in his throat. His thoughts had all but come to a halt and his mind refused to even entertain any doubt. There was no room for anything else but joy.

The man in red and blue stopped, arrested by Johnny’s arms around him, holding onto him tightly as if a mere breath could blow him away and out of sight.

“You came back,” Johnny said, his voice thick, his eyes shut tight.  “You came back, you came back,  _ you came back. _ You came back to me.”  All at once, the past year didn’t matter anymore.  All of his regrets, all of his longing, and all of the pain were completely irrelevant. Because here was Spider-Man, warm and solid against him, breathing and alive and whole.

“Johnny?”

His knees went weak at the sound of his name in that familiar voice—low and muffled behind the mask but familiar still.  Spider-Man caught him, strong hands on his elbows, and kept him upright. He was aware that he was shaking but couldn’t make himself stop.

“Johnny, I’m not—”

“Whoa, what’s this?” another voice asked from somewhere behind Spider-Man.  “Came back? Something I should know about, Spidey?” 

The new voice was familiar, too, though Johnny couldn’t quite place it.  He opened his eyes and stepped back slightly, still refusing to let Spider-Man go, and peered around the other man’s shoulder.

He saw his own face staring back at him.

Johnny, only seconds ago floating in happiness, suddenly felt like he was in free fall.

He thought of that other universe, that other Peter Parker—leaner, older, more wary—and saw that same quality in him. This other Johnny Storm, clad in the colors of shadow and flame, belonged there, he  _ knew _ . And so, he realized, heart sinking, must this Spider-Man.

“You should go back,” he said through a lump in his throat, pushing both of them towards the opening they’d just left. “Leave now—”

“Johnny—Johnny, we can’t,” Spider-Man said, holding his ground, and none of Johnny’s efforts to shove him did anything against his damned super-sticky feet.

“Yeah, the portal’s gone,” the other Human Torch said. “Believe me, we’d have gone straight back home if it weren’t.”

Johnny looked back and forth between them, struggling to hold himself together, to keep the tears in and his facade intact. He managed it for all of two seconds, and then the free fall ended, and then there was just the crash.

 

+

 

Johnny was in a bed in the med bay. He couldn’t remember getting there, though he supposed The person in waiting in a corner of the room would help him find out soon enough.

“Ben.”

Ben, who had been hunkered down looking strangely desolate, shot to his feet, putting his arm through a wall in the process.

Johnny winced.

“Reed won’t mind,” Ben muttered, moving to his side.

“We’ve done worse, play-fighting,” Johnny agreed. “What happened?”

“How you feelin’?” Ben asked instead of answering the question.

“Like I’m in a bad dream that won’t end.”

“We got here ten minutes ago. They’d just laid you down here. All the alarms were still goin’ crazy and we thought they’d hurt you. There was almost a full scale battle before that other Torch managed to calm things down.”

_ That other Torch.  _ Not a dream, after all.

“Did they—Did they go home?”

“The portal’s closed,” Ben said. “They said they came through by accident and it flickered out before they could turn back. I told Stretch and Suzie to kick ‘em out, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Ben, one of them’s me.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Johnny sighed and sat up. He felt wrung out, worn down to his very bones. “They came from the same portal I went through. The one that led to another universe. It’s very likely they are who they seem to be.”

“That’s what Reed said,” Ben grumbled. “But what does  _ he _ know?”

Johnny swung his legs over the side of the bed and glared when Ben made as if to help him. “They’re not from around here. If you kick them out, they’d have nowhere to go.”

“Aw, why should we care?”

“Because we’re not  _ assholes _ . And...and if that Johnny’s from the world I visited, his family’s already turned their backs on him once. I won’t let you do that to him again.”

“Again?”

Johnny firmly planted his feet on the ground and stood up. “Where are they?”

“Kid—”

“I’m not a  _ kid _ , Ben. I haven’t been one for years. I don’t need you to protect me from everything. Besides, the Baxter Building’s only so big. I can find them, with or without your help.”

“They’re still in the lab,” Ben said reluctantly, falling into step beside him. “You don’t have to see them.”

Ben was right. Johnny had that choice. But he walked down the hall to where they were anyway.

Reed and Sue looked at them when they entered, and their visitors quickly did the same. Johnny wanted to stare at Spider-Man, felt his eyes being drawn to the familiar lithe figure. He allowed himself only the briefest glance before turning his attention to the other Human Torch. But doing so only gave him a different brand of heartache. 

He just looked so... _ wrong _ . It wasn’t about the colors of his suit, not really.  Johnny had worn red once instead of blue. What bothered him was the lack of any insignia, any indication, that he belonged to a team. There was not a trace of the number “4” anywhere.

“Johnny,” Sue started. “How are you feeling?”

He was beginning to hate that question, for one thing. “I’m sorry I sort of...freaked out earlier,” Johnny said, addressing the empty space next to Spider-Man.

“It’s—fine,” Spider-Man said haltingly. “We didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to hang around if—”

“You can’t go,” Johnny interrupted him.  Torch—it was so much easier to think of him solely in terms of his powers than of who he was—had instantly looked stricken, his eyes frantically darting between Reed and Ben and his sister as if he wanted to memorize every detail about them before he was forced to say goodbye again. “And I’m alright. It won’t happen again.”

“It could take us a while to figure out how to force a portal open,” Reed told him. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

Johnny frowned at him. He couldn’t believe how eager he seemed to turn another version of him away. Was it really that easy to push him aside and forget about him? He looked at the other Johnny out of the corner of his eye. He’d edged closer to Spider-Man, one hand clutching the other’s arm, fingers digging so deeply, it had to hurt.

“I won’t let you make them leave, Reed,” Johnny said stubbornly. “And we’re going to help them get home safely.”

“Of course, we are, Johnny,” Sue agreed, giving her husband a pointed look.

“Having them around  _ could _ provide valuable insight,” Reed mused, eyeing Spider-Man.

“What insight?” Sue asked.

“They could help us figure out what happened to  _ our _ Spider-Man.”

“What happened to your Spider-Man?” Torch echoed.

“So you  _ are _ that Johnny Storm,” Spider-Man said at the same time. “The one who met Parker in the Baxter Building.”

Johnny closed his eyes briefly. Peter. God, Johnny had forgotten all about him. How close had he been to unthinkingly casting him aside the instant he had seen Spider-Man? The tide of self-loathing that rose in his throat tasted like bile and Johnny swallowed it down. “Yes.”

“Parker?” Torch parroted again, his voice a mixture of puzzled and oddly amused. He tilted his head curiously and looked at Spider-Man.

“Peter,” Johnny supplied. 

“I know who Peter Parker is,” Torch told him, sounding no less puzzled. “You...You met him?”

Johnny remembered him clearly. How he’d looked a little bit older, a little more tired, and maybe just a little bit more cynical than their own. “Yeah. There was another portal and I—I went through it, and he was there.”

“Funny,” Torch began, in a tone that indicated he didn’t find it funny at all. “ _ Peter _ never mentioned that.”

“He hasn’t seen you in weeks,” Spider-Man answered.

“Yeah? He forgot how to pick up the phone or what?” he demanded.

“But he told  _ you _ about me?” Johnny asked.

Torch snorted. “Oh, yeah. They tell each other everything. And still, somehow, they never get around to telling  _ me _ .”

“Now is not the time, Johnny.”

Torch rolled his eyes. “First thing I’m gonna do when I see your former boss is set his eyebrows on fire. Tell him  _ that _ .”

“Former boss?” Johnny asked faintly.

_ “Torch.” _

Johnny’s heart gave a painful squeeze. He knew that tone of voice. Spider-Man used it whenever he got fed up with Johnny’s antics. In the past, Johnny would have only let it fuel him to even greater absurdity, but now it just made him want to cry.

_ I missed you. I missed you  _ so _ much. _

Torch turned away from him, and Johnny wanted to tell him not to be stupid. Without his family, Spider-Man was all he had left.

“We’ll help you figure out what happened to Spider-Man,” Spider-Man told the others. “And you’ll help us get back?”

Reed reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “That’s a promise, young man.”

“Better get started now,” Torch said bitterly.  “I know you can’t  _ wait  _ to get back to your nice life.”

“Johnny—”

Torch ignored him, spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room instead.

Sue raised her eyebrows.

Johnny blocked Spider-Man when he started to follow. Being so close to him made Johnny feel light-headed—and not at all in a good way. “I’ll go,” he said.  “You don’t understand him, but I do.” Not only was it another version of himself, but he knew what it was like to long to see someone so deeply, to finally find them again, only to realize that they didn’t belong to you.  That they would never be yours to keep.

He found the Human Torch on the roof, standing on top of the concrete barrier, six inches from the edge to empty air.

His other self glanced over when Johnny came to stand next to him.  The wind whipped at their hair, but they were both used to the feel of it. 

“This is hard,” the other version of himself muttered. He looked miserable. “This  _ sucks _ .”

“What sucks?” Johnny asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Them. Being  _ around  _ them. I thought I’d be happy to see them in some way, but now I realize I’ll just have to say goodbye again and I  _ hate _ it.” His eyes flared orange and sparks sizzled in his hair.

“Yeah...I know what you mean.”

Torch burned hotter, fists glowing, and glared at him. Johnny just stared back came. How often had he been in the same state? Just circling around above Manhattan, throwing fireballs into the distance for no reason other than to let off steam? Torch saw that understanding, the utter lack of judgement. He returned to normal and was quiet for a moment. “What happened to your Spider-Man?”

Johnny scrubbed a hand down his face.  “Gone. For about a year now.”

Torch turned pale. “Did he—Was it a villain?  Did he go down fighting?”

Johnny looked at him helplessly. “That’s what we need help with. No one knows. He just...disappeared.”

“Yeah, if he just quit, then trust me. It never sticks.  You just gotta wait him out. He’s done it so many times. Once, it was because he’d moved all the way to Portland. Portland!”

“He didn’t just quit or move,” Johnny said quietly.  “If he did, he picked the worst possible time to do either one without warning and is an absolute asshole who hates me.”

“What do you mean?”

Johnny hesitated.  He didn’t know what this Spider-Man and his Human Torch were, whether telling them anything would interfere in their relationship or not.  He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. What did it matter? He was too tired to care. “I kissed him,” he said quietly. “He kissed me back. The next day he vanished. Now, tell me.  Would  _ your _ Spider-Man have done that?”

Torch had been staring at him in growing horror, but he looked away at Johnny’s question. “The Spider-Man I know wouldn’t have kissed me back at all, and he would’ve avoided me like the plague for a bit afterwards. He’s good at that.”

“But he wouldn’t disappear. He wouldn’t really leave you.”

Torch sat down on top of the barrier and dangled his legs over the side.  “I don’t think he would, no. He’s still my best friend. He’s still family.”

Johnny sat down, too. Best friend. Family. He would gladly have that again. That was more than he deserved. He made a face and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “I shouldn’t have kissed him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Torch said quickly. “Look. If there’s one thing I know about Spider-Man, it’s that he wouldn’t abandon anyone he cares about, not if he can help it. Not without a good reason. Something had to have gone wrong.”

Johnny’s face crumpled and he forced himself not to start crying like a loser again. “I know. I’ve been telling myself that.  _ Everyone’s _ been telling me that.  But it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop thinking it.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Torch promised, a bit rashly perhaps, but that was Johnny for you. “Who better to find out what happened to Spider-Man than another Spider-Man?”

Johnny smiled wanly. “I’m sorry I can’t offer to help you in return.”

“Me?”

“With the ones  _ you _ lost.”

Torch blinked, deflating just a little. “Right. It’s okay. I’ve kind of gotten used to it now.”

“You know you can’t lie to me, right?”

He laughed, to Johnny’s surprise. “No. I guess I can’t.”

For a few moments, they were silent, until Johnny had to ask. “Hey. What’s with the suit?”

Torch looked down at himself. “Yeah, it’s weird, right? I can’t quite get used to it, either, but I couldn’t exactly wear the FF uniform by myself.  It’s…”

He didn’t have to say it. It was any number of things between  _ inappropriate _ and  _ painful _ . “But you’re still…”

“In the business?” Torch finished. “Yeah.”

“With Spider-Man?”

“No. You know how he is. I’m with the Avengers now.”

“You’re with the  _ what _ now?”

Torch gave him a funny look. “The Avengers. Do you... _ not _ have them here?”

“Oh we do. I just…” Johnny wrinkled his nose. “Really?”

Torch snorted. “They’re not so bad.”

“Johnny?”

The two of them gave a start at the sound of their name and twisted around.

Sue was standing just outside the rooftop exit, the elevator doors sliding shut behind her. “Do you think you can take care of dinner? The others are still busy and I have a few errands to run first.”

“Oh. Sure.” Johnny glanced at the other Torch. A wistful expression had dawned on his face, and he was staring at Sue. “Hey. You can help if you want.”

He hesitated. “I...Okay.” He smiled faintly.  There was a sadness in it that Johnny was all too familiar with. “I’d be glad to.”

 

+

 

It was a little weird at first being around someone who looked and talked and acted just like him, but Johnny had been a member of the FF for over a decade. Getting used to weird things quickly was a strange side benefit.

It was a lot harder to deal with being around Spider-Man.

Johnny froze, on the verge of turning a steak, when he walked in with Reed. Even through the expressionless mask, Johnny could see a similar panic coursing through him, his head turning from left to right as though searching for an exit.

Torch had to step in and save the meat, flipping it barehanded, and Spider-Man took the distraction as an opportunity and abruptly vanished.

Johnny dropped the tongs on the counter, and both Reed and the other Johnny eyed him cautiously.

“You okay?” Torch asked slowly, retrieving the discarded utensil.

“I’m fine,” Johnny said, breathing in and out through his nose with forced calm. “I just—I just need—”

_ I can’t stay here. I can’t do this. I should have let the others kick them out. _

“Somethin’ smells delicious,” Ben said, ducking under the doorway and breathing in deeply. He looked at Johnny. “Almost a shame you’d have to miss out on your own cooking, isn’t it?”

“W-what?” Johnny forced himself to focus on Ben’s face. “What are you talking about?”

Ben handed him the phone Johnny had left lying around in the living room. “Didn’t mean to see the message,” he grumbled.

Johnny took it blankly and glanced down.

_ Home and ready to start making it up to you, _ the notification on the home screen said. Johnny looked at the rest of the message.  _ What time are you coming over? I could get dinner. _

Peter. God, he’d forgotten about Peter  _ again _ .

“Johnny?” Reed asked with a concerned frown. “Who is it? Is something wrong?”

“It—It’s Peter.” Dimly, he realized this was it. This was his chance to get out of the Baxter Building. The perfect excuse. “We had—We have plans.”

Torch turned to him slowly. “Peter?”

“I believe you mentioned the one from your world earlier,” Reed said. “Peter Parker.”

The tongs slipped from a Human Torch’s grip for the second time. It clattered to the floor, and Ben pointed at it.

“What’s wrong with you?!”

“That’s impossible,” Torch said, ignoring Ben. 

Reed was studying him with the same fascinated expression he reserved for energy systems and radioactive isotopes. “What is?”

“You just said—This whole time—I don’t understand.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny felt a sudden clench in his gut. He thought back to his visit to their world, recalling how tired Peter had looked and the mention of a fight with Johnny bad enough to damage the building. But he also remembered how _that_ Peter had bought the Baxter Building. He remembered the way that Peter had looked at him, how upset he had seemed when he realized Johnny wasn’t the one he knew.  “What doesn’t make sense? Do you—Isn’t he your friend, too?”

Torch bent down and picked up the tongs, buying himself time to answer, eyes darting rapidly in thought. He bathed the tongs in flames to clean it. “We’re friends, yes,” he said finally, slowly. “But I...He’s still around?”

Johnny frowned, his insides tying themselves further into knots. His mouth was suddenly dry. “Why? Did something happen to him in your world?”

Torch blinked at him. “No. No. It’s—I’m just surprised you’re hanging out with him. With Spider-Man gone.”

From his periphery, Johnny saw Reed’s eyebrows shoot up. And Johnny could see why. It had taken Spider-Man being gone for him to notice Peter Parker, after all. Spider-Man coming back had made Johnny forget about him twice.

He felt another stab of guilt and hastily pushed it aside. “I should go.”

Torch smiled tightly. “Have fun with movie night...It  _ is _ movie night, isn’t it? Pizza, soda, Peter’s awful taste in film…” 

Johnny paused in the doorway, looking at his other self whose face was softened by a wistful fondness.  _ Oh,  _ he thought, the sudden realization nearly bowling him over.  _ He loves him. _ “Movie night...Yeah. Yeah, it’s something like that.”


	10. Chapter 10

Peter waited by the open living room window, staring out into the night. It was hot and humid, but he hardly noticed as he scanned the horizon. He’d gotten dinner, just in case, even though Johnny hadn’t replied and it had been half an hour since his text.

Maybe there was some superhero battle going on somewhere, in spite of the distinct lack of explosions over the city. Perhaps the FF were off-planet again, exploring whatever weird new world they’d managed to fall into—either by accident or by Reed’s design. 

Peter briefly thought about asking to be included on one of those field trips one day. He would like to see what Johnny could see, all the strange and new things. It would be something they could talk about, years down the line.

_ “Hey do you remember when we went to that place and...Oh, and what about the time when…?” _

It was a nice fantasy, but Peter was getting ahead of himself.

He glanced down at his phone again. Still nothing. He turned away from the window and headed for the dining table where the food he’d bought still sat in their takeaway boxes. Just his luck Johnny wouldn’t show on the night Peter went all out and got pasta from the fanciest place he could find.

He was just about to put the food away in the refrigerator when he felt it—the shift in the air, not quite a breeze, that came with the change in temperature the Human Torch brought.

“Pete?”

“Here.”

Johnny looked to his right. “Hey.”

Peter set the food back down. “Almost put the food in the fridge. I got pasta, if you want it.”

Johnny crossed the living room and halted at the kitchen counter running between them.

“It’s really good pasta,” Peter said when he stayed silent. “But I can get something else delivered, if you like.”

Johnny rounded the counter and briefly touched him on the back before sitting down at the table. “Pasta sounds nice.”

Peter went to get the plates and silverware, sneaking looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Why?”

“I don’t know. You seem pensive. That means thoughtful, by the way.”

“I know what it means, asshole. And that means  _ fuck you, _ by the way.”

Peter hid his grin. “So what are you thinking about?”

Johnny leaned back as Peter set the table. “Just...Just stuff.”

“Stuff?” Peter teased. “Oh, yeah. I know stuff. Stuff’s heavy.”

Johnny didn’t respond and Peter wondered if he’d accidentally said the wrong thing again. He seemed to have a singular talent for it.

“Hey, I know that restaurant,” Johnny said, interrupting his thoughts.

Peter looked down at the box he’d unwrapped and the name stamped on the cover. “Oh. Harry told me about it.”

“That  _ is _ good pasta. And it costs an arm and a leg.” Johnny looked up at him. “Wow, serving me the expensive stuff. You must like me a lot.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“I had my doubts, but now they’re gone.”

“Because of pasta.”

He laughed and Peter found himself smiling faintly in response. At least he didn’t seem so distracted now, and apparently Peter hadn’t gone overboard in teasing him.

Settling in to eat, Johnny was warm and attentive, whatever he’d been thinking about pushed to the back of his mind. He laughed at Peter’s worst jokes, he smiled brightly, he demolished half the linguini and ate all the bread with ease. And yet Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Johnny was trying too hard.

“So I’ve cued up some movies,” Peter said after they’d dumped the dishes in the sink. “Don’t worry. It’s the ones you picked that we didn’t get to finish earlier and—”

Johnny kissed him, catching him by surprise and shutting him up with hardly any effort. He pulled back slightly, eyes downcast and fixed upon Peter’s lips, then kissed him again, more fiercely, shoving him back against the stove. His fingers gripped Peter by the arms, holding him still. As if Peter could get away, cornered as he was. As if he would even want to.

Then, just as abruptly as he’d started it, Johnny ended it, breathing raggedly as he tore away and let his forehead drop against Peter’s shoulder. “Take me to bed, okay?” he asked, voice so small, Peter could barely hear him.

Peter reached up to cradle the back of his neck and felt a huge shudder run through him at the touch. “Johnny.”

“Please? I need—I just need—” He gave a small, frustrated growl, fist clutching the front of Peter’s shirt. “Please.”

Peter wondered why now, after all this time, after all the careful distance. He nudged Johnny’s chin up, trying to make eye contact, but Johnny refused to meet his gaze. Peter frowned. “Johnny, did something happen?”

The fingers on his shirt only tightened. “Please,” Johnny said again, on the edge of a sob. And Peter had seen Johnny this way before, that time he’d come from back from the darkness, from that place where everything had felt wrong. A place he had claimed to hate but had wanted to come back to for some reason. They hadn’t had sex then, not right away, but Johnny had spent the entire night plastered to him, as if any space at all between them had suddenly become unbearable. 

Peter had been around him enough to begin to understand. He raised a hand and gently started to work Johnny’s hold on him loose, one finger at a time.

Johnny struggled to hold on, panicking. “No, no. Please—”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s okay,” Peter said, softly. “It’s okay,” he said, his hand still cradling the back of Johnny’s neck briefly tightening. He succeeded in freeing his shirt from Johnny’s grasp and pointedly settled Johnny’s hand on his waist. “Come here.”

Johnny melted against him, both arms going around him, fingers hot on Peter’s back even through fabric, and pressed his face against Peter’s cheek. His breath puffed gently in Peter’s ear, still unsteady but slower than before.

“Tell me what you need, Johnny.”

“I need you to fuck me. I need you to take anything you want— _ do _ anything you want.”

_ You need to stop thinking,  _ Peter almost said, stopping himself at the last second.  _ Like you always do when you get like this.  _ Not that he had the right to mind it now, when he hadn’t before. How selfish he’d been when this had all started. He hadn’t cared about being nothing more than a distraction then, too fixated on the idea of fucking Johnny Storm. On being allowed to be so close. On the chance to feel whatever it was he felt when he was around Johnny for even just one second more.

Johnny pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, one hand coming up to touch the side of his face. “I need to think of nothing but you.” He blinked. “So, please,” he added, and Peter had made him beg long enough.

He broke. As if he had ever stood a chance.

Johnny didn’t weigh like anything when Peter picked him up, one hand around his back and the other under his knees. Johnny yelped in surprise at the sudden motion but quickly recovered. He clung to Peter’s neck, pupils dilated, lips parted hungrily, before stretching up and raining kisses all over his face.

Peter couldn’t remember walking to his bedroom, but he got there with Johnny still in his arms, still kissing every inch of Peter’s face and neck he could reach. He set him down by the foot of his bed and undressed him, brushing aside his overeager, fumbling fingers, tossing each article of clothing over his shoulder until Johnny stood before him, naked and trembling, even though he wasn’t cold—he  _ couldn’t _ be.

Peter stared at him, heart-stopping in the moonlight streaming in from the open window. Johnny glowed silver, leached of all color yet radiant, and he wondered, not for the first time, if this was really okay. If he was even allowed to touch someone this beautiful.

“Pete?”

Peter reached out and cradled the side of his face, Johnny leaning into the touch. “Do you remember the signal?” he asked, brushing stray locks of golden hair from his forehead.

Johnny nodded.

“And your words?”

Johnny thought for a moment and quirked his lips. “Flame on?”

Peter laughed. “That wasn’t what we’d established last time, but I guess that’ll do. At least you won’t forget it. Try not to actually burn me, though.”

“I would never hurt you,” he said gravely and Peter smiled at the look on his face. He was earnest, even though he didn’t seem to realize how impossible that promise was. Not when Johnny Storm could easily break his heart a thousand times before the night was over.

“Will you be good for me tonight, then?”

“Aren’t I always?” Johnny asked with a faint winsome smile.

“You’ll do anything I ask.”

“I’ll do anything you ask.”

Peter moved his hand from Johnny’s cheek to the back of his head, tangling his fingers through soft golden hair. “Are you sure about that?”

Johnny’s eyes grew heavy-lidded when Peter gently tugged on his hair. “Pete, I trust you.”

Such a simple statement, uttered so matter-of-factly, and yet it made his blood run hot.

Peter released him, hands going to his belt. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, aware of Johnny’s heightened anticipation. “On your knees, firefly. Hands behind your back.”

Johnny obeyed, keeping his eyes locked on Peter’s, and there was desire there, yes. But now Peter could see the trust Johnny had claimed to have, as well. He didn’t quite know what to do with it. It made him feel both powerful and helpless at the same time.

Peter took hold of himself in his left hand and traced Johnny’s lips with the fingers on his right, careful to keep his touch light, and watched the yearning burn in his eyes. “Open your mouth, pretty boy.”

He opened it.

“Deep breath.”

Johnny inhaled, and Peter didn’t wait for him to finish. He pushed forward, half-hard, and let Johnny’s lips close over him.

Peter left things up to him at first, let him lick up and down his still growing cock, teasing his shaft with soft lips and puffs of warm breath. Every now and then, Peter stepped back and Johnny chased after him, coming dangerously close to toppling over in his frenzy several times, steadied only by Peter’s hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, hotshot,” Peter said, noticing the look of frustration on his face. “We’ve got all night.”

Johnny settled back. “Okay, Peter,” he said with forced calm. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Peter stroked his hair and quietly counted to ten, just to see if Johnny could keep still.

He did, looking determined as he stared up at him.

Peter smiled and his gentle petting turned into a tight grip, his fingers twisting a fistful of yellow locks. “Tell me what I should do to you.”

“Whatever you want,” came the prompt reply.

“Good boy,” he murmured, and stepped close again.

Sinking into Johnny’s mouth again was like heaven. Sometimes, when his brain was working well enough, he wondered if Johnny was ever consciously using his powers to some extent—the heat of him was always just right, always perfect, always just what Peter liked. It was easy to lose himself in the mindless motion, the wet, shallow thrusts and Johnny’s muted little noises. The sight of Johnny’s cheeks hollowing out as he sucked on the upstroke and the spit smeared around his mouth only made Peter want  _ more _ .

“Stop,” Peter ordered hoarsely.

For a moment, Johnny knit his brows, defiant, but then he pulled off with excruciating slowness, gently stroking underneath Peter’s length with his tongue before allowing him to pop free.

Peter grabbed a fistful of hair on either side of Johnny’s head. “Okay?” he asked, knowing there should be more words in there but not quite finding them. 

Johnny nodded eagerly, anyway, somehow knowing what he was asking. He braced his knees further apart and opened his mouth again.

_ Take anything you want. _

The words went round and round in his head as he did just that, fucking Johnny’s mouth with little mercy, using him as much as he was willing to be used—and Johnny was  _ very _ willing. 

Johnny was accustomed to him by now, relaxed enough to just sit back on his heels and let Peter push into him, barely gagging when Peter’s cock began to fill his throat—and stayed there.

Peter held still, watching him carefully for any sign of discomfort, waiting for him to unclasp his hands from behind his back and raise them high enough for Peter to see. But Johnny didn’t give the signal, trusting him to pull out before he had to.

Peter did, and Johnny drew in a deep gulp of air, falling against Peter’s leg afterward with a cough. Peter’s belt buckle dug into his cheek, but Johnny didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes or no, Johnny.” Peter asked after a few seconds.

“Yes,” Johnny said at once. “Fuck,  _ yes _ .”

Peter reached down and wrapped a hand around his throat. He felt more than he heard Johnny’s gasp as he pushed him back upright, followed by his hands scrabbling at Peter’s arm. Peter loosened his grip, but that only made Johnny growl, trying to keep his hand right where it was.

“Sweetheart, if you just want me to choke you, I’m about to do just that.”

Johnny’s hands stilled and finally fell away. “Oh. Right.”

Peter snickered. “Hands behind your back, gorgeous.”

Johnny returned to his earlier position, eyes bright and watery.

Peter moved the hand on his throat to the back of Johnny’s head, tugging on his hair and forcing him to tip his face upwards, the long pale column of his neck beautiful and vulnerable. If he weren’t already so dead set on what he wanted to do next, he would take the time to mark Johnny’s exposed throat. He would make a map of all the places where his teeth have been and let his fingers leave visible reminders in a way that his cock, sliding back down Johnny’s throat now, could not.

_ Take anything you want. _

Johnny’s body was his, after all, wasn’t it? At least for the moment. It was his to mark, his to claim and his to wring every last gasp and cry and shuddering orgasm from.

But the things he wanted, really truly wanted, weren’t things that he could take. They were things that Johnny would have to give him freely, on his own. Things that Johnny still held close to his chest, even now when he’d already surrendered everything else.

It was a hell of a time to have that thought, mid-thrust, with Johnny’s warm throat closing in around him. The fact that Peter found him still so exquisite while he looked so debauched and filthy only made it more painful.

Peter uncurled his fingers, letting him go, and slowly pulled himself out.

Johnny blinked up at him, concerned. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Peter shook his head, wiping some of the spit off Johnny’s face with his sleeve.

“I...I can do better,” Johnny said, still misinterpreting why they had stopped. 

“I don’t think you can.”

Johnny’s face fell and he started to get back up.

Peter knelt in front of him instead, stopping him short. “I don’t mean it like it’s a bad thing,” he said gently.

Johnny was incredulous. “How is it a  _ good _ thing?”

“I mean, you can’t do any better because any better would kill me.”

The befuddled expression on his face was almost adorable. “Why did we stop?”

Peter didn’t answer him, choosing instead to ask a question of his own. “Can I kiss you?”

Johnny halted, mouth opening and shutting in utter confusion. “You’re asking if you can kiss me. I was deep-throating your cock and you stopped me to  _ ask _ if you can  _ kiss _ me.”

Peter wrapped a hand around the side of Johnny’s neck, thumb pressed right up against his pulse, and felt the fast and steady thrum. “Can I?”

Johnny’s eyes skimmed his face and he made a small sound, eyes darkening. “Okay,” he said, breathless. “Please kiss me.”

Peter did, a gentle touch at first, nothing more. A fleeting whisper of a kiss that felt like a hurricane tearing through him, anyway.

Johnny blinked when he pulled away. “Can I touch you?” he asked quietly.

Peter nodded and Johnny unclasped his hands. His fingers on Peter’s face were warm, tracing the line of his jaw, the edge of his cheekbone, the furrow between his brow. “You always look so serious, Pete. You’re so much more handsome when you smile, you know.”

“I—What?” he asked, caught off-guard.

“I think about it sometimes,” Johnny said, ignoring his interruption. He brushed his thumb across Peter’s bottom lip. “I don’t even know why, I just—”

“My...smile? Is that oxygen-deprivation speaking?”

He sighed. “Forget it. Just shut up and kiss me again.”

Johnny said that, but he was the one who leaned in and pressed their lips together, an open flame blossoming in his mouth. Every sound Johnny made, Peter swallowed it. Every breath Johnny took, Peter claimed for his own. It was just what Johnny wanted, his cock against Peter’s hip growing harder and harder, until Peter took him in his hand.

Johnny immediately hastened to reciprocate, one hand clutching the front of Peter’s shirt and the other wrapping around his dick. His eagerness made him clumsy, his strokes rough and fast, without any rhythm. 

Peter put a hand over his.

“Pete, let me—”

“Yeah,” Peter whispered, face pressed against Johnny’s hair, and guided his pace to match his own. “Just like this, okay?”

Johnny nodded, catching on quick, and Peter closed his eyes. He let go of his last thread of coherent thought and let himself be guided by instinct, by Johnny moaning into his kisses, and by the shudders that ran through his body every time Peter touched him just right. He was always so responsive, so vulnerable and free in this one place, in this one way. And while Peter still wasn’t sure how Johnny felt about him, how deeply the feelings—if there were any—ran, he was sure that they were good like this. It never ceased to amaze him how right it was, how well they just fit, how perfectly their mouths slotted together. Surely, that had to mean something, didn’t it?

Johnny whimpered suddenly and Peter became acutely aware of Johnny panting in his ear. He drew back just enough to see his face. “Feel good, firefly?”

Johnny nodded, eyes half-closed as another tremor rocked his body.

“Wanna come?”

Johnny made a small sound and jerked his hips, his cock leaking sluggishly onto Peter’s fist.

“Johnny.”

“Yes,” he breathed desperately. “Yes, please. Can I come?”

Peter took his hand away, but only so he could put both of them on Johnny’s waist and lift him up to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked up. “You can come,” he said, and took him between his lips.

“G-god,” Johnny stuttered, eyes locked on Peter’s face as he sucked him off. His hand came up to grip Peter by the hair, in turns pushing and pulling as if he couldn’t decided if he wanted more or less. “Oh, God. Too much. This is—I’m gonna—”

He came in Peter’s mouth, the taste of him flooding his tongue. Peter released him and swallowed.

Johnny half-laughed, half-moaned as Peter began to lick him clean. “Are you always this good at sex or is it just me?”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Peter said, straightening. “But you and me—like this—it’s...it’s a little more special.”

“Bet you say that to everyone who’s been in your bed.”

“No,” he said truthfully. “Just you.”

Johnny’s gaze softened. “Pete.”

Peter stretched up and kissed him again, slow and deep, trying to get him to understand all of the things he was feeling, all of them coursing through his body and threatening to burst out of his chest.

He’d hoped to get them across, for Johnny to return them in some measure, even if not to the same extent, but instead Johnny stiffened—and not in a good way.

Peter pulled back immediately. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Johnny closed his eyes. “No,” he said hoarsely.

“We can stop here if you—”

“No.” He swallowed. “Kiss me again. Please.”

He did as he was asked, hand on the back of Johnny’s neck, and knew that something had changed. Johnny’s response was frantic and sloppy, his hands pushing and yanking on Peter’s shirt in an effort to get it off him. Unsurprisingly, the fabric tore, and Peter broke the kiss with a frown.

“Johnny—”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, cutting off the rest of his reprimand. “I’m sorry. I know what I promised, but I was wrong. I can’t do it.”

Peter drew back, but Johnny’s fingers latched onto his arm kept him from pulling back too far. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you should get the lube and fuck me. Right now.”

Peter’s brows snapped together. “Not yet.”

“I can’t wait. I can’t—I can’t keep playing the game.” He leaned in closer, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “Please, Peter? It’s what we both want.”

Peter got up to fetch the lube as requested. He was confused about what had brought on the change, where the impatient, desperate need was coming from, but a small yet incredibly loud part of him told him to just shut up because what difference did it make? He had meant to bring Johnny to this same state, anyway—albeit more slowly.

When he returned, Johnny was back on his knees, though facing the bed this time and bent over with his face buried in the mattress. 

Peter knelt behind him, skimming his fingers along the ridges of his spine, making him shiver. He meant to take his time getting Johnny ready in the hopes of slowing things down, but Johnny wasn’t having any of it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter said, frustrated when Johnny batted his slicked-up fingers away.

“You won’t,” Johnny said into the mattress, his voice strangely thick. “Not in a way that I don’t want.”

“At least look at me.”

Johnny turned his head to one side, one blue eye looking at him, even though Peter wasn’t sure he was really  _ seeing _ . His pupils were blown wide, his cheeks glowed a deep pink, and his breathing was almost dangerously fast. 

Peter folded Johnny’s arms behind his back. “Remember your words.”

“I remember. But I won’t need them.”

Peter frowned but pushed into him all the same.

Johnny’s nostrils flared and his eyes fell shut again. Even though Peter hadn’t skimped on the lube on himself, the lack of preparation would certainly burn. So when Johnny gasped, as expected, he paused.

“Don’t stop,” Johnny said, pushing back against him. “I  _ want _ this.”

Peter gave in and let him have it, concern and frustration overridden by plain lust, and pushed slowly forward, inch by excruciating inch, until finally he was all the way in, buried to the hilt in Johnny’s enveloping heat.

Johnny shuddered then, clenching around him, and Peter moaned, falling forward, bracing his weight by placing his hands over Johnny’s wrists on the bed, holding him down.

He held still for a few seconds, letting Johnny get used to him. But it was Johnny who moved first, panting as he swung his hips backwards.

“Come on, Parker.  _ Move. _ ”

Peter obliged, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back in.

“Yes,” Johnny gasped again. “That’s it. Come on.”

Johnny wanted this, he told himself over and over again, taking him in long, rough strokes with reckless abandon. Johnny met each one with a deep moan, pushing his own hips backwards and demanding harder and harder, and harder still. The slap of skin on skin seemed unbearably loud, joining the sound of the heavy bed slamming into the wall.

“Harder. Come on, show me how strong you are.”

Peter pulled out of him, and Johnny swore.

“What the—” Johnny broke off his own complaint when Peter picked him up as if he weighed nothing and tossed him onto the mattress on his back.

“Need to see your face,” was all he said by way of explanation, before pushing back in.

It was much better now that Peter could see him. He could watch his expressions for any indication that he was going too fast, too hard, too far. He could see Johnny’s beautiful face, contorted by lust and desperation, grow more and more open and vulnerable.

“Look at me,” Peter said, feeling himself nearing the brink. “Open your eyes and look at me, Johnny.”

Johnny opened them slowly—almost reluctantly—his face turned to one side, and looked at him out of the corner of his eye.  His mouth fell open when Peter’s cock prodded his prostate yet again, a soundless cry.

It didn’t take much longer for either of them after that. Peter came first, emptying inside him, feeling like his mind had come untethered from his body and he was floating. It was only Johnny’s breathing that drew him back down, his hands clenching on Peter’s shoulders reminding him that he was far from done. He moved through his orgasm, Johnny’s fingertips like brands on his skin, and leaned down to kiss him.

Johnny turned his head at the last moment, Peter’s lips grazing his cheek instead. But he put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck and held him close. He mumbled something Peter couldn’t quite understand. It sounded like “I’m sorry,” but that made no sense. Before he could say anything in response or ask him to repeat it, however, Johnny came.  His grip on Peter’s neck and shoulder tightened nearly to the point of pain, his frame caught up in a vast shuddering wave that seemed to go on and on and on.

Afterwards, Johnny lay limp and exhausted, legs and arms splayed bonelessly out on the bed, eyes still shut tight.

Peter rolled off him and yanked tissues out of the dispenser on the nightstand. When he turned back, Johnny’s eyes were open. They looked at him, glistening in the dim light, brimming with unshed tears.

“I  _ did _ hurt you,” Peter said in dismay, hovering over him.

Johnny shook his head. “You didn’t,” he said, taking the tissues and wiping himself clean.

“Johnny.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” he insisted. He crumpled up the used paper and tossed them over the side of the bed.

In spite of what he said, Peter still felt terrible, as if he had done something wrong somehow. It couldn’t have been the sex—it was nothing they hadn’t done before. But what else could it have been?

Johnny reached up and cradled his face between his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“What are  _ you _ apologizing for?”

Johnny hesitated. “For making you look like that.” He pushed Peter down onto his back and kissed him, miserable and apologetic—for what reason, Peter still had no fucking clue.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny whispered again, and curled up against him, sniffling.

Peter stared up at the ceiling, equal parts bewildered and disgusted with himself. What the hell had just happened? In all the times they had had sex, when Johnny had needed Peter to take him out of his own head, things had never ended like this. But he should have seen, he should have  _ known _ —in spite of his begging and his insistence—that this time was different. This time, something was really wrong, something Peter couldn’t just fuck right out of him.

Johnny’s arm stole around him, and he was really crying now—softly but for the occasional snuffle, but crying for sure.

“Johnny.”

Johnny buried his face against his side, as if he could hide the tears, as if Peter couldn’t feel them burning on his skin.

“I’m sorry, too,” Peter said. “I should have stopped.”

“Not your fault,” Johnny said hoarsely.

“Then please tell me what’s wrong?”

Johnny didn’t answer. Instead, he held on just a little bit tighter, as if afraid that, at any moment, at the merest breath, Peter would slip away.

 

+

 

He sat up with a start sometime later—maybe minutes, maybe hours. Johnny had cried himself to sleep and Peter had been so busy hating himself, he’d completely lost track of time. But something had dragged him out of his thoughts—a prickling on the back of his neck and the feeling of eyes upon him. 

He got out of bed, careful not to disturb Johnny, and walked to the open window.

The city of New York was all that was out there, hundreds of neon lights and illuminated windows the only things blinking back at him. The sense of being watched had disappeared almost as soon as he’d poked his head out but Peter lingered. The air was much cooler now, the earlier humidity gone, and suddenly he was wide awake.

He leaned out further, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, and let the wind rip through his hair, relishing the feeling of being vividly, utterly alive.

There was a rustle behind him, and a voice called, just before he could turn around, “Spider-Man?”

Peter dropped back to his heels, his stomach plummeting the rest of the way down to the ground floor, and turned around.

Peter started toward the bed, and Johnny’s gasp when he realized his mistake only sharpened the sting. He snapped a bedside lamp on. “Hate to disappoint you, firefly, but it’s only me.”

Johnny looked so stricken, it was almost comical. As it was, Peter had to fight down a wave of hysterical laughter.

“I guess now I know where your head’s at—where it’s been all night.”

Johnny recoiled. “Peter.”

Peter looked down at him and felt something inside him break into a million pieces. “I thought you were acting strange, even for you. And that was before we even made it to bed. Were you thinking about him all this time?”

Johnny looked away and that was answer enough.

Peter clenched one hand into a fist, nails digging into the palm of his hand, distracting him from the heavy weight on his chest. “Were you thinking about him  _ every _ time?”

“No,” Johnny said sharply, looking him in the face. “I don’t  _ want _ to think about him. I was trying  _ not  _ to—” He stopped and bit his lip, realizing what he had just admitted.

Peter turned around and walked away.

Johnny watched him pick his discarded pants off the floor.  “What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed. What does it look like?”

“Wait—Don’t go,” Johnny said hastily, jumping out of bed.

“This is  _ my _ apartment, Johnny,” he said, voice almost gentle as he crossed the threshold. “I’m not going to be the one who has to leave.”

Peter made it five steps outside the bedroom before he had to stop, leaning against the wall for support.

_ Don’t do it, don’t go there— _

As usual, his mind didn’t listen. He thought of Spider-Man with Johnny, kissing him, holding him, fucking him in Peter’s bed. That was what Johnny had been thinking all night, wasn’t it? And then, as it inevitably did, the thought of Spider-Man led to more unwelcome thoughts, to the image of spiders crawling all over his apartment, spilling from his mattress, covering Johnny’s face—

Peter felt sick.

“Peter,” Johnny’s voice was saying, tugging him away from the terrible thoughts. “Peter, please. Let me explain.”

Peter focused on him. Johnny was just Johnny, naked and splendid, and his apartment was just his apartment, just as spider-free as usual. He could still taste bile in his throat but the urge to throw up all over his living room rug was, for the moment, gone.

“Peter.”

Peter swept past him to the kitchen, body moving as if on auto-pilot. He needed something to do—anything—because if he stood still, he was going to fly apart. He found the coffee pot and started to wash it, forcing his mind to focus on his hands.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Johnny asked, perplexed.

“Making coffee,” he answered automatically.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what else to do,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice until his sentence ended with a growl. “Because after all this time together, I still can’t make you stop thinking about him. I thought all I had to do was keep being here and keep showing you that I care about you but it’s still not enough and I don’t know—I don’t know if I should just give up.”

“Just let me explain—”

“Please, just stop talking.”

Johnny’s mouth snapped shut.

Peter was aware that he’d washed and rinsed the pot twice already but he squirted more detergent into it and started all over again. “I knew, when this all started, that you were just using me. I was fine with it at first because it was just meaningless sex. But it stopped being that for me pretty quickly. I was—I was hoping it stopped being that for you, too.”

Johnny closed his eyes briefly. “It did. You have to believe me.”

Peter rinsed out the pot one last time and filled it.

“You have to believe me,” Johnny repeated quietly.

Peter opened his mouth—to say what, he had no clue.  It didn’t matter. Before he could get any sound out, before his in-drawn breath could even hit his lungs, something exploded.

The noise was tremendous, and Peter watched in stunned silence as a fireball the size of five city blocks rose in the sky outside his window and burned itself out.  

“What the hell—” Peter dropped the coffee pot in surprise, then swiftly caught it without even losing a drop of water.

For two seconds neither of them breathed or even moved, immobilized by shock and relief, until Johnny gently pried the pot out of his hands and placed it in the sink.

“What the hell was that?” Johnny frowned, completing Peter’s thought and leaning in closer to the window over the sink.

Sirens began to scream all around the city, drifting up from the streets to Peter’s floor, tinny and distant but clear in the relative silence of the night.

Peter frowned and opened the window.  There was no fire, but a thick cloud of smoke and dust was visible below where the fireball had been. “That place...”

Johnny glanced at him. “What about it?”

“It’s where our new headquarters is.  It’s the same part of town.”

“Peter, I hope you’re not thinking what—”

He ran back to the bedroom and picked up his wallet and phone. More than a feeling, he suddenly  _ knew _ that he was right.

“Okay, you  _ are _ thinking of going out there,” Johnny sighed, following just behind him.  “Pete, it’s dangerous. I’m not letting you—”

He was already at the front door, halfway into his jacket and still shirtless underneath, jamming his feet into a pair of sneakers.

“Peter!”

Peter ignored him. He would rather deal with his livelihood possibly reduced to a heap of rubble instead of what their relationship had become. He slammed the front door on Johnny’s face and ran.

 

+

 

It turned out he wasn’t about to get his way because Johnny was standing on the pavement waiting for him when Peter ran out of the building. He hadn’t flamed off yet, and Peter stopped in his tracks at the sight. He blinked, and suddenly Johnny was back to normal and fully dressed, though his shirt was on backwards and inside-out.

“I’m not going to let you run right into danger, Peter,” he said firmly, hands curling into fists. Peter wasn’t sure if he was imagining them glowing orange.

Peter raised two fingers to his lips and whistled desperately.

“So what if your building’s there? I know it cost you a shit ton of money you don’t exactly  _ have _ but it’s just a building. And what makes you so sure the fireball came from there, anyway?”

Peter turned to him. “I told you. I know this city like the back of my hand.”

He whistled again, flailing his arm from the curb for good measure, and this time a cab appeared, screeching to a stop in front of him. He climbed in, Johnny following right behind him.

Peter frowned. “What are you doing?”

“We were in the middle of a conversation,” Johnny said stubbornly. “And I know it’s on hold, but I’m going to make sure you’re going to be in a condition to finish it later.”

Peter gave up and told the driver the address.

It wasn’t very far, and the time of night meant that traffic was light, with barely anyone else on the road besides fire trucks and emergency vehicles heading in the same direction. His apprehension grew with every block, filling his head and the space in his chest. He was aware of the driver saying something to the effect that they must be stupid to be heading that way and Johnny snapping at him in response, but he couldn’t come up with any words to say for himself.

The cab finally pulled to a stop two blocks away and refused to go any further.

Johnny dragged him outside, yelling indistinctly, and thrust a few bills from Peter’s wallet in the driver’s face before leading Peter into an alley.

“Hey.  _ Hey.  _ Pull yourself together or I’m flying you back home,” Johnny told him gruffly, taking him by the shoulders and giving him a shake.

“Something’s wrong,” Peter said.

“A fireball a quarter of a mile wide just went off in the air. You  _ think _ ?”

Peter pushed past him and started walking in the direction of his company’s new offices.  At the end of the block, he rounded the corner, and his heart immediately sank.

The building was gone.  No, that wasn’t right. The building was right there. At least, all the parts that had once made it up were.  Only now they weren’t standing upright but were collapsed all against each other.

_ Norman’s going to pitch a fit _ .

Peter pushed his way to the front of a small crowd, stopping just shy of the hastily erected wooden barriers surrounding the site. He reached out to his right, where he knew Johnny was, and squeezed his arm. “Johnny.”

Johnny had been looking up at a nearby rooftop, a strange expression on his face, but he turned to Peter at the sound of his name. “Pete, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“I need you to do something for me,” he interrupted.

“Anything.”

“You can feel heat, right?” He pointed at the rubble. “I need you to tell me if you can sense body heat, and if you can sense it through  _ that _ .”

Johnny blinked. “I—Well, I’ve never really tried to use it like that but—” His brow furrowed in concentration for a few seconds. Then he looked at Peter with obvious worry in his eyes. “There—there’s  _ one _ patch of heat, about as warm as a person, near the center of the rubble.”

“Oh, God. It must be the night guard. I need you to go over to the paramedics and tell them someone’s there.”

Johnny glanced over at the cluster of emergency personnel on the other side of the barrier.

Peter grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re the  _ Human Torch _ . They’ll listen to you.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll go. You stay here where it’s safe, all right?”

Peter gave a short laugh. “I can’t make any promises, but I have to call Harry. Someone has to make arrangements—call the man’s family— _ Go. _ We can’t waste any time!”

Johnny jumped the barrier, flaming on when several cops rushed over to force him back, while Peter called Harry’s number and put the phone to his ear.

The phone rang for what felt like forever until finally Harry picked up. Peter heard a cough, followed by Harry’s voice, thin and faint, saying his name.

“Pete.”

“Har. Har, I’m sorry if I woke you, but something’s happened to our new place—”

Harry interrupted him with a coughing fit. “Peter, I know,” he rasped out, his voice still weak. “I’m here.”

Peter’s brain screeched to a halt. He glanced around him, hoping to see Harry standing not far away, and knowing that he wouldn’t. “Harry, where are you?”

“I’m inside the building.”

Peter leaped over the barrier without even thinking and half a dozen emergency personnel immediately swarmed him, trying to make him turn back, but he planted his feet and held his ground. “That’s my building,” he tried to yell over their instructions. “That’s my building and my best friend is in there!”

_ That _ got their attention, and he must have been really loud because Johnny, talking to firefighters several yards away, heard him.

Johnny strode through the people blocking him, parting them easily. “What did you say, Peter?”

“Harry’s in there,” Peter said, still clutching his phone to his ear.

“Is that him?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I need to take your phone, okay?”

“But—”

“I’m handing it over to the paramedics. They can help him. Trust me?”

Peter blinked at him and relinquished it. He watched as Johnny brought it over to someone standing by an ambulance who took it and began to slowly speak to Harry, calmly asking questions about his state and his location, and Peter felt a peculiar kind of helplessness—an infuriating sense of uselessness as he hovered and watched other people doing their job.

Johnny came back and squeezed Peter’s shoulder, pulling him aside between two squad cars. “Pete. The rescue crew with the proper equipment are on their way but it’s going to take a while, all right?”

“A  _ while _ ? What does that even mean?”

“Peter—”

He hauled Johnny in by the front of his shirt and said through gritted teeth, “My best friend. Is  _ in there _ .”

Johnny eyed him carefully for a moment, then his eyes flickered upwards toward the rooftop he’d been staring at earlier. “I have an idea,” he said after a couple of seconds, prying Peter’s fingers loose with difficulty. “Promise me you’ll stay put and not do anything rash.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“I’m getting someone who can help. I’ll be gone a minute, max.”

Peter stepped back and Johnny flamed on, shooting upwards to the top of a building.

A minute. Johnny asked for a minute so Peter immediately started counting down to it in his head. He had just passed the thirty-second mark when something happened. Two somethings, one immediately after the other.  First was a collective murmur, the voices of the crowd behind him rising in a mixture of surprise and wonder. Peter would have turned around, just to see what was getting them all worked up, when the reason suddenly became evident.

A blur of red and blue shot out of the night and landed, light and graceful and soundless as a cat, right in front of him. Recognition hit him instantly, followed by intense confusion.

This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t right. This was—

_ Impossible. _

He didn’t know how he knew that or why he felt that way, he just did.  His very mind shuddered away from the reality in front of him, attempting to reject what his senses were telling him. But there was only so much his brain could deny without taking a trip into the realm of insanity.

Spider-Man was in front of him. Translucent white eyes looked him up and down—mask blank and unreadable—and on the heels of Peter’s confusion, his utter conviction of  _ wrongness _ , came that familiar skin-crawling revulsion that turned his tongue sour.

Peter shivered, tearing his eyes away to check himself.

_ No spiders. There aren’t any on you, Parker. Get it together. _

He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. Maybe he was still in his apartment, wrapped around Johnny, fast asleep.

There was a light breeze on his face and he opened his eyes again.

_ No. No, this isn’t real. _

But it was, and Spider-Man was no longer before him but leaping towards the jumbled skeleton of their ruined building.

_ Harry. _

Peter took a step forward but was abruptly brought up short by a line of fire drawn across his path.

“Easy there, Romeo,” an all-too familiar voice coming from a familiar mouth drawled. Someone wearing Johnny’s face and body touched down in front of him and a snap of his fingers put out all the flames.  “Spidey’s got this.”

Peter stared at him. Even ignoring the black and orange suit, he knew who this man was  _ not _ . “Who the hell are you?”

“Johnny Storm. The Human Torch,” he said easily, sounding faintly amused. He looked Peter up and down, just as Spider-Man had. But Peter could see his expression—the slight curl of his upper lip, the cool judgement in his blue eyes, and a banked, icy anger. He took a step towards Peter. “So, you’re this world’s Parker, huh? Have to say, you look the part, with better hair and better clothes, but you’re not  _ better _ at all, are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

His eyes darted over Peter’s shoulder, and he leaned in. Peter could feel the heat coming off him—not enough to burn, but just enough to be unpleasant. His Johnny never came near him like this. “We’re going to have a talk—you, me and Spidey. But first, we need to save  _ your _ best friend. If you’re not going to help, then stay out of the way.”

Peter stood still as he flamed on and flew away to intercept the line of police and firefighters heading for Spider-Man. Johnny hated him. At least that Johnny did, and he had no idea why.

“Peter.”

He turned around, and felt some of his unease drain away. Worry for Harry still weighed heavily, tying his guts into knots, but here was Johnny— _ his  _ Johnny—with his inside-out shirt and sleep-tousled hair.

“What’s going on, Johnny?”

He hesitated. “I’ll explain later, okay? Right now, they’re here to help.”

“Help? How do you know they won’t just make things worse?” Peter asked incredulously. “You can’t just start shifting rock—move one wrong thing and—”

“Spider-Man told me about this thing he has,” Johnny interrupted him calmly, eyes locked on the subject. “Spider-sense. It’ll tell him what’s safe to move and what isn’t.”

“You’re putting an awful lot of faith and my best friend’s life on some...spider-sense?”

Johnny frowned at him. “You wanted me to do something and I did. You can yell at me later, if you still want to, but he’s getting Harry out of there. I’d bet anything he would.”

Peter wished he could do the same. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside. He closed his eyes again. There were so many things he couldn’t touch right now—his anger at his own uselessness that had made Johnny turn to Spider-Man, the confusion and underlying fear at the sight of the masked vigilante, the fact that there was another Johnny who looked at him as if he were a worm not fit to crawl upon the dirt. None of that mattered at the moment. 

The only thing he cared about was Harry.

All that mattered was Harry. Not—

_ the spider legs clawing at the seam between his lips _

Not—

_ the look on Johnny’s face _

Only—

_ Meet me at the usual place. _

“Peter. Peter, open your eyes.”

He opened them and for a moment thought he could see those words, written in the sky in massive flaming letters. An invitation. A call meant for him and him alone.

He blinked and there was nothing there. Just black and blue and grey.

Someone’s hand around his—warm and strong. “Pete. Look.”

He followed the line of Johnny’s other arm, the finger pointing at the wreckage of his company’s headquarters, gone before the ink on the lease agreement had even dried.

A figure in red and blue was striding out of it, someone huddled in his arms, and Peter felt a nearly staggering tide of relief.

Harry was safe. That was all that mattered. That was everything.

 

+

 

There were a thousand thoughts running through Peter’s brain and a thousand conflicting feelings churning his insides but he forced all of them back to focus on Harry, lying on a hospital bed and protesting being in it on account of his perfectly good health.

“The doctor said to still keep you here overnight. Dust inhalation, possible concussion, some internal injury that no one has noticed yet.” Peter tugged a thin sheet on top of him. “You’re staying put.”

“If it were you in my position, you’d have threatened to punch a doctor by now.”

“Yeah, and you know better than to be anything like me.”

Harry sighed and leaned back against the pillows. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue with you.”

“That’s the spirit,” Peter said. He gave Harry a pat on the shoulder and went to sit in a chair in a corner of the room.

Harry shifted on the bed to face him. “Does...Does Dad know what happened to his building?”

Peter had tried calling Norman ten times without a single response and Anna Maria had resorted to calling everyone else they knew with ties to Oscorp and still no one had managed to reach him. “We’re working on it,” he said carefully. “But it’s the middle of the night and he might be fast asleep or far from his phone or something.”

“My father, fast asleep?” Harry laughed. “Nah. He probably just doesn’t care about it. He  _ did _ lease it to us. Hell, he practically gave it away.”

_ He probably just doesn’t care about me,  _ was what Harry was really saying _.  _ “He’ll come when he finds out. You’re his only son, Har. He loves you.”

“Sure. What about Liz?”

“Liz is  _ definitely _ on her way,” Peter said at once, grateful for the chance to change the topic. “She woke all of our lawyers, by the way. Which I probably should have thought of. You  _ sure _ you don’t want to steal her from Oscorp?”

“She’d laugh in our faces right now. You and I have nothing to offer.”

Peter was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not like you tore the place down with your bare hands.” He lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling.  He sighed. “Well. Guess that’ll teach me to work overtime again, huh?”

Peter would have laughed if he didn’t feel like crying. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow his fault, but the official investigation would take days to give a report.

“I wasn’t imagining things, was I?” Harry asked after a while. “Spider-Man dragged me out of there and there were somehow two of your boyfriend?”

“Wish I could say this whole night has just been some terrible nightmare. But no, Harry. You weren’t.”

“You should go home, Peter. I have a feeling your night could get even crazier. Perks of dating a superhero.”

“Yeah. Not sure  _ that’s _ going to work out,” Peter muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Pete—”

The door opened just then, interrupting Harry, and Liz Allen walked right in. She was wearing an old cardigan, a faded t-shirt, and sweatpants, and her eyes were round and red-rimmed. She blinked once and then ran to the bed.

“Harry. You’re okay!”

“You and I both think so, but Peter doesn’t,” Harry said, his voice muffled when Liz enveloped him in a tight hug. “Save me?”

Liz looked around and saw him there. “Actually, I  _ do _ agree with Pete.”

Harry groaned.

Peter got to his feet. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, Harry. Okay?”

“Pete, wait.”

He stopped by the door, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“I still haven’t thanked you.”

“Thanked me? Why?”

“Peter. You saved my life.”

Peter stared at him. “I didn’t do anything.”

Harry glanced at Liz and broke away. “I was out. If you hadn’t called and woken me up, I’d probably still be down there. So thank you.”

Peter didn’t want Harry to thank him. He’d only called because there was a problem he wanted help with. “I didn’t do anything,” he repeated, his hand on the door. “I’ll talk to you later, Harry.”

Anna Maria was in the waiting right where Peter had left her, looking apologetic. “I couldn’t reach Norman. On any number.” She frowned as he sank into a seat next to hers. “Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m great. I’m not the one who had a building fall on top of them.”

Anna Maria eyed him. “You should go home.”

“There’s so much to do—”

“Most of which can wait until morning. I already sent out an e-mail to all our employees so they know they don’t have to come in tomorrow—”

“Because there’s nothing to come in  _ to _ .” Peter leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. “How am I going to fix this, Anna Maria?”

“Peter...We may have lost all our equipment and our working prototypes, but they’re not  _ everything _ . Our electronic backups are all up-to-date, and you’ve still got all your patents and licensing deals. You can bounce back.”

He straightened and looked at her. “I can bounce back, but what about everyone else?”

“We’ll figure something out.  _ After _ you get some sleep.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter said, giving in with a small laugh. “What about you?”

She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m definitely going home and passing out. You’ll pay for my cab, right?”

“Anything you want,” Peter said sincerely. “You’ve done so much, it’s the least I can do. You’re a lifesaver.”

Anna Maria laughed. “You kidding me? I’m practically a superhero.”

Anna Maria was right. There wasn’t much they could do in the dead of night, and with Norman not answering any of their calls and Harry down, they may as well wait for sunrise. And while Peter hadn’t thought he would be sleepy while they were in the hospital, exhaustion hit him like a bus as soon as he sat his ass in a cab.

He would have passed out on his couch if Johnny hadn’t been in it.

He shot to his feet as soon as he saw Peter. His shirt was no longer inside-out and he looked wide awake.

Even now, Peter still wanted him, heart heavy with a longing so deep, it left him with little room to breathe.

“Peter,” Johnny began, uncertainty stilting his voice. “How—How’s Harry?”

“He’s fine,” Peter answered, surprising himself with how steady his voice was. “They’re keeping him overnight for observation, but he’s fine.”

Johnny seemed to have been encouraged by his answer, or perhaps just the fact that Peter was even speaking to him, and rushed over, tugging on his sleeve.

“Peter, about what happened tonight—”

“Just to be clear, because it’s been pretty eventful, you’re not referring to how my livelihood literally just crumbled into dust, are you?”

“Okay, you’re still mad—”

Peter looked at him and gently pried his fingers off his shirt, one by one. “I think you should go home.”

“No. There’s so much I have to tell you. I need to explain—”

“I’m not stupid, Johnny. I don’t need an explanation.”

Johnny took a deep breath. “You’re tired. I get it. Can we talk tomorrow?”

Peter wished his brain had a handy edit function. One that would let him forget about Johnny writhing in his bed, meeting his wild thrusts, thinking of someone else. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Johnny flinched. “Peter, I made a mistake and I’m sorry. Please—Please don’t tell me I have to lose you, too.”

“I need you to ask yourself if that’s the only reason why you’re still here.”

Johnny looked confused. “I like being with you. I like how it feels when we’re together. And every time I see you, I get so scared that I might mess things up and it’ll be the last time and it—It hurts too much.  And I know I  _ did  _ mess up. It was a mistake and it won’t happen again.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, see, that’s where you and I are different, I guess.”

“What...what do you mean?” he asked apprehensively.

“You like being with me. You like how it feels,” he echoed hollowly, and waited for the words to sink in.

Understanding dawned, followed by chagrin. “Pete—”

“I love you, you know,” Peter interrupted him gently, admitting out loud the thought that had been going round and round his head for a long time. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s how I feel. I don’t know when it happened or how. It feels like something that’s been inside me for a long time. But you can’t even say you like  _ me _ . I don’t think it could be any plainer than that, and it was my mistake trying to force the issue because I hoped maybe—” He stopped. 

_ Maybe you were starting to feel the same. _

He rubbed a hand across his forehead.  “Anyway, if you’re ready... _ when _ you’re ready...if you still think you want me, maybe we can try again.”

“I’m ready,” Johnny protested. “I’m ready, I’m  _ trying _ .”

“I  _ know _ . I know. It’s just…” Peter glanced away.  “Do you know what I think about every time I see you?”

Johnny slowly shook his head.

“I think about stupid boring things. Like—Like sitting around and watching terrible movies for  _ hours _ and how we’d never have to get up to make more popcorn because I’d just make you do it in the palm of your hand. Or hanging out at night on a rooftop somewhere, on a blanket, watching all the five stars visible from New York City as they come out. Or waiting by the seaside until sunset and then kissing you senseless right then and there because it’s a cliché for a  _ reason _ .” He looked down. “I think about how, at the end of every day, I could tell you about all the new stuff I made and you’d tell me about all the new worlds you discovered until we end up passed out on the couch on top of a pile of just  _ way _ too much pizza.”

Johnny snorted, his eyes wide and round and wet. How many times could Peter make him cry in one night? “Those are incredibly specific.”

Peter shrugged. “I know it all sounds silly and unromantic, but it’s what I want.  And it’s not what  _ you  _ want. Not with me. So maybe it’s best if we stop pretending this was ever more than what it was.”

Johnny closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were even wetter than before. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know that, too.”

Johnny kissed him. It was as sweet and kind as a blow cracking his ribs open could be. 

It felt like goodbye.  

He was gone in the next second, a streak of flame in the night sky that grew more and more distant, until he turned a corner, and Manhattan’s skyscrapers finally swallowed him out of sight.


	11. Chapter 11

Johnny was tired.  So tired, the word wouldn’t even begin to cover the weariness that seeped into his bones.  Watching Harry Osborn get loaded into an ambulance, Peter getting in after him, all the adrenaline that had been fueling him seemed to run out all at once.

Several yards away, also watching the ambulance, was the other version of himself—just as exhausted, eyes blinking blearily, glancing around him looking strangely lost. His shirt was inside-out, Johnny noted, and then tried not to think about what that meant.

Johnny closed his eyes and pressed his index finger against the bridge of his nose.  _Don’t go there.  Don’t think about a version of yourself naked in bed with Peter Parker._

But that just made it worse. 

It had seemed like such a good idea, prying Peter off the Fantastic Four’s garage ceiling, where he’d seemed perfectly content to spend the night—the weirdo—and investigate this world’s Peter Parker. Because being in a place with no Spider-Man but with a Peter Parker still alive and well and living in New York was just too bizarre, Johnny had to hear _why_ for himself.

How was he supposed to know what they would find at Parker’s place so late at night? They had expected him to be alone and instead saw him and this world’s Johnny Storm entwined in each other, blankets kicked to the floor and clothes strewn all over the room.

They hadn’t stayed to see much more than that—his Peter (the _worst_ Peter in the multiverse, Johnny decided) had led him away to a nearby rooftop to wait—but not without Johnny catching a glimpse of that other Peter coming to the window, alerted by spider-sense, perhaps, still as naked as the day he was born. And God, Johnny wanted to scrub his brain clean because now he couldn’t stop thinking about his best friend’s body, as ripped as his tight-fitting suit had always hinted, and—

_Stop it. Stop thinking about specific body parts and what you want to do with them._

He tried to push the images out of his mind, of how that other Johnny and that other Peter would be like together, but they came anyway. He took a deep breath and pressed harder against his nose.  

Would the other Peter call the other Johnny “pretty boy” the same way his Peter did, he wondered—half-mocking and playful—or would he say it sincerely, pressing his mouth to Johnny’s skin, strong legs between Johnny’s thighs?  How many nights had this version of himself spent in Peter’s bed? How many kisses had they shared? How many times had he woken up with Peter’s arms around him?

Johnny wasn’t on fire, but his blood suddenly felt like it was boiling.

“We need to go, hot stuff.” Peter’s voice jarred him out of his thoughts, shockingly close. 

Johnny looked to his right, into Spider-Man’s wide, white lenses.  For a moment, Johnny wondered if Peter could see it—the secret Johnny had buried beneath so many layers of shame and denial and for so many years—unearthed and showing plainly on his face.  He swallowed, forcing an outward calm. “What?”

“We gotta go. I just overheard the paramedics and the mayor is on his way and apparently it’s still Jonah here. He’s going to find some way to pin this on me, I just know it.”

Johnny sighed. “Fine. Are we going back to the Baxter Building or are we gonna follow Parker?”

“Neither. It’s not like we can talk to him at the hospital. Let’s go wait back at his place.”

Johnny glanced once at the other Johnny who was trapped in a conversation with a firefighter.  Johnny nodded and Spider-Man’s webbing _thwipped_ and soon they were flying over the rooftops, back the way they came while following the other Johnny and Peter, to the spot where they had moved after they had gotten that one shocking eyeful.

 _Fuck, this was a bad idea,_ Johnny thought as Spider-Man settled next to him on the rooftop across Parker’s apartment. They sat on the edge together, feet dangling over nothing, and Johnny could feel Peter’s body heat. Compared to most people, Spider-Man burned hotter. He felt like a beacon calling to Johnny in the dark.  _I’m going to die._

“Maybe we should just come back in the morning,” Johnny suggested desperately.

Spider-Man turned his face toward him. “What?”

“I’m tired. Aren’t you? It’s been a big day, you know. Maybe we should take some time to, uh, reflect.”

“ _Reflect._ Do you even know what that means outside of the context of mirrors?”

Johnny stared at him. Of all the times to be difficult, Johnny really wished Peter hadn’t chosen today. “I’m tired,” he repeated. “We spent all day fighting and then we ended up here and there’s just...too much to think about.”

As if to drive home his point, a streak of flame appeared out of the corner of his eye. It caught Spider-Man’s attention, too, and they both turned their heads, distracted by the blazing figure that rocketed through Parker’s open living room window.

The other Johnny Storm had returned to an empty apartment, and they both watched silently as he doused his flame.  There was something strangely sad in the way he moved, visible across the way after he had switched on a lamp in the living room, as though burdened by some invisible weight. He sat on the sofa and eventually lay down, disappearing from view.

Johnny bit his lip. “Peter?”

He cocked his head slightly in Johnny’s direction. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Johnny asked. “You met another version of me and you never said anything? Why?”

Johnny expected him to lie. Peter did that sometimes, a habit that wearing a full face mask doubtlessly only encouraged. Yet the explanation that spilled out of his mouth—whether it was true or not—was infuriatingly terrible. “I didn’t think it mattered. And we’ve both been busy with other things and after a while it just...slipped my mind.”

“Oh, wow. I just _slipped your mind_. Guess that tells me how much I mean to you,” Johnny said sarcastically, then winced at how it came out sounding more bitter than he meant it to.

“He’s not really _you_ , Johnny.”

Johnny opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again.  “Did you know?” he blurted out before he could stop himself, before he could figure out whether he was ready to hear the answer or not, or even what, exactly, he wanted to hear.

“Did I know about what?”

“About this,” Johnny said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of Parker’s window. He didn’t want to spell it out. It was taking all his willpower to restrain his mind from venturing in extremely graphic directions.

Spider-Man hesitated, and Johnny’s heart suddenly started beating so hard, he was convinced he could hear it. “He more or less told me, when the other Johnny crossed over,” he finally answered.

Peter had known. All this time, he had _known_ about this world where they were sleeping together and he hadn’t said anything about it. Johnny’s mind spun. What did that mean? Had Peter put it out of his mind because it bothered him? Because he didn’t like the thought of it? Or did he not talk about it for the same reason Johnny was desperate to forget what they had just seen?

“Did it...Did it bother you when you found out?” _God, shut_ up _, Johnny. Shut up shut up shut up—_

Another moment of hesitation. “A little bit.”

Johnny abruptly turned away, hiding his face. He didn’t want it to give him away.

“But it’s not like it’s _us_ ,” Spider-Man said hastily. “I got over it.”

That only made Johnny want to punch him. The idiot probably thought it was a reassurance, forgetting it would imply that the thought of sleeping with Johnny _himself_ would bother him. Peter didn’t want him. Of course, he didn’t. The one from this universe was probably the sole exception to a rule etched into the fabric of the space-time continuum or something.

It took all he had to refrain from laughing hysterically.  “Oh,” was all Johnny said, the only word he could squeeze out of his throat.  And then, “Okay.”

“Does it bother _you_?”

“You know what, I really _am_ exhausted so maybe we should just wait quietly, okay?”

“I...Okay. Okay, whatever you want, firefly.”

Johnny flinched at the nickname.  He wanted to say it didn’t, not in the way Peter thought it did.  It bothered him in the sense that it filled him with envy and longing for something he had no right to have.  But whatever courage the other Human Torch possessed, Johnny didn’t seem to have it.

“I’m going to swing around,” Spider-Man said suddenly. “See if anyone out there needs help. You keep an eye on the place.”

Johnny frowned. “But—”

“I won’t go far. I’ll stay in sight. Okay?”

Johnny let him go.  It was starting to get awkward, anyway.  He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut. Should have spared himself the embarrassment and disappointment.  He looked out across the cityscape, at all the lights against the black, at Spider-Man in free fall, and felt his guts tie themselves into knots.

 

+

 

Johnny flew out of Peter’s apartment wishing his flame could be hot enough to burn through his own flesh and bone.  The agony would be a welcome distraction from the _other_ searing pain that came from inside his chest. Heat flared to life somewhere off to his left, and he glanced over just in time to see a very startled Human Torch, in the middle of flaming on, gaping after him in surprise.

Johnny ignored him, not even stopping to wonder why he was there, and sped on.

_“I love you, you know.”_

The words went round and round in his head, an echo that only rang louder with each repetition instead of fading away. The truly awful part was how easily Johnny could imagine all the things that Peter had told him, everything he had wanted them to do together. Movie nights, watching the sunset, kissing on the beach—he could picture all of those things with startling clarity.

But Peter had told him he loved him one second and had broken up with him the next and Johnny was never going to have any of that.  

It was the universe’s idea of a joke, and it was entirely at Johnny’s expense.

Johnny choked back something that might have been a laugh, but was more likely a sob. He was well aware of all his shortcomings and he still hadn’t expected to blow it so horribly with Peter. He’d given it everything he had, had made every effort, and in the end he had still failed to keep a relationship together.

Peter had told him _he loved him_ and Johnny had still lost him. 

Pathetic.

Johnny put on more speed, continuing to berate himself.  He was so distracted that he almost collided with a red and blue figure swinging into his path. He pulled up at the last second, at the same instant the other figure dropped, and the end of an abandoned webline waved in Johnny’s face.

Spider-Man rose up again, swinging himself onto the face of a nearby building and sticking there.  “Watch where you’re going, Flamebrain!”

Johnny had spent a year bouncing wildly between nearly every stage of grieving over Spider-Man. He had been trying to work his way towards the last because of Peter — _for_ Peter. And then Spider-Man came along and ruined all that.  Everything from the suffocating joy upon seeing him again, to the crushing disappointment upon realizing he wasn’t his Spider-Man at all, and now finally this — taking his last hope for anything resembling happiness away — it was all too much.

Johnny flared, and Spider-Man flinched back from his fire. They wouldn’t have hurt him — even in his rage, Johnny was always careful — but seeing him draw back only made Johnny angrier. “You should never have come here,” he said, spitting out embers. “You just made everything worse.”

Spider-Man moved his head slightly. “What happened, Johnny? Did Parker come back?”

Something clicked just then, the realization piercing through his anger as he recalled passing the other Human Torch. “Come back? Were you following me? Were you _watching_ us?”

“No,” he said sharply. “We weren’t even expecting you to be there.”

“Why were you there then? Did you want to talk to Peter? He has nothing to do with—”

“It’s about _me_ ,” Spidey replied. “Or, well, your version of me. And we never intended to get in the way or make anything worse, but we’re stuck here. If you tell us to butt out, we will, but like it or not, Peter Parker is the best lead we’ve got.”

Johnny opened his mouth to yell at him, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Hadn’t they asked him to help figure it out in the first place? Didn’t Johnny want that, too? 

Spider-Man glanced at the building he was stuck to, and when he spoke again his voice was almost gentle. “The rooftop, Johnny. Let’s talk.”

Johnny almost refused, almost told him to get lost and stay away. But it was still Spider-Man in front of him. He still held sway over some part of his heart. Johnny followed, drifting down to stand in front of him, an arm’s length away.

“What happened?” Spider-Man asked, his blank white eyes fixed in Johnny’s direction.

His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. _I lost everything again, that’s all._ Except did he even have the right to say that?

“What did Parker do?”

Johnny looked away, all of his misdirected anger at Spider-Man turning back unto himself. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah? I know Parker. Doing things wrong is kind of his specialty.”

Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know how he is in your world, but my Peter— _this_ Peter—has been nothing but kind to me. If anything, I’m surprised he’s stuck with me for so long, given all the stupid things I’ve said and done.”

Spider-Man laughed a little at that. “He likes you. Isn’t that just normal?”

Johnny felt his face start to crumple in spite of all his efforts to not allow it.

_“I love you, you know.”_

_“You can’t even say you like me.”_

“I’m an awful person,” he said hoarsely, the first tear rolling down his cheek.

“No, you’re not,” Spider-Man said, sounding startled. “Johnny. I don’t...I don’t understand what’s happened here. But you can never be awful. Not in the thousands and thousands of worlds out there. You’ll always be good. You’ll always be the best.”

“Then why did he disappear? Why is Spider-Man gone? I still have my family, but I still feel like shit all the time. I had an incredible guy and all I did was use him to make myself feel better. To make myself forget. And when that didn’t work, to make myself _remember_ . How is that good? How is that _the best_?”

“Johnny…”

He rubbed a hand down his face, mopping up his tears, and forced a tight, rueful smile. “God, listen to me. I’m a wreck. I’m just...so _tired._ It’s been an eventful day.”

“Do you want to go home?”

Johnny wanted to sink to the bottom of the ocean, to lay his bones somewhere no one would ever find them. “You go on ahead, okay? I just...it’s too far away. Come back for me with the Fantasticar or something.”

“I’ll swing you there,” Spider-Man said and, before Johnny could stop him, gathered him close.

“Spidey—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. “I don’t mind.”

Johnny didn’t have it in him to argue any longer, melting into his warmth instead.  He wrapped his arms around Spider-Man’s neck and pressed his face into his shoulder.  His scent was comfortingly familiar — a combination of webfluid and something else that tugged at his memory.

“Just hold on, Johnny,” he heard Spider-Man say, an indecipherable note in his voice.  “Hold on to me, okay?”

A few moments later they were soaring, the wind screaming past Johnny’s ears. Spider-Man’s arm across his back was solid and strong. Johnny couldn’t have fallen even if he’d wanted to, yet he tightened his embrace, doing as he was told.

Johnny held on.

 

+

 

Johnny had watched his other self speed past him. He’d looked upset in that half-second his face had been visible before fire consumed it, and Johnny had debated following him to make sure he was okay.  But the agile figure that swung to intercept the Human Torch made him stay. Peter would take care of it, Johnny thought, turning back to the open window. Whatever happened had involved two people, and the best way Johnny could help now was to handle one half and trust Spider-Man with the other.

Except...how was Johnny supposed to handle this, exactly? He hovered uncertainly over the fire escape, just outside the same window the other Torch had left through, and watched silently. He had no idea how to approach this Peter Parker, hunched in a wing chair with his face in his hands, who proceeded to not move for a long, _long_ time. Johnny wasn’t used to this kind of Peter at all.

But then Peter took a deep, shuddering breath and, without even looking up, asked, “What the hell do you want?”

“To talk,” Johnny said after a moment’s hesitation. “Can I come in?”

Peter lowered his hands and blinked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Do whatever you want,” he said indifferently.

Johnny crawled through cautiously and landed on the carpet with a soft thud. There was something strange about this Peter. Something _off_. Quitting as Spider-Man was a giveaway, but he had the feeling that was just a symptom of some bigger problem.

“If you’re just here to tell me you hate me, though, I can do without that,” Peter said with characteristic wryness. “Not from you.”

“He didn’t say he hated you.” Johnny said.

“Well, he didn’t say he _liked_ me.” Peter studied him with a sharp gaze. “You’re from another universe, aren’t you?”

Johnny nodded. “You don’t seem to be very surprised.”

“Johnny told me he accidentally traveled to one before. I assume this is a related incident?”

Johnny nodded.  “I think so.”

“Well, I already freaked out about it then. Internally, because Johnny was already doing the same, kinda. Anyway, tell me something.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “What?”

His fingers suddenly clenched around his chair’s armrests. “In...In your world, what am I? What are we? Am I even in the picture?”

“We’re friends.”

“Oh. I see,” he said, and while words sounded calm, he looked absolutely wretched. Johnny couldn’t understand why.

“Great friends,” he clarified, in case that would help. “Best friends.”

“Right,” Peter echoed hollowly. “That’s wonderful. Happy for him, I guess.”

“Is that not enough for you?”

He threw his hands up. “I’d take it. If we were that, of course, I’d take it. But we’re not. Without the...physical relationship, I don’t think I mean anything to him at all.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard a Peter Parker say—and you guys say some really stupid shit.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m right, aren’t I? You say we’re friends where you come from. Obviously that’s the most I can hope for. Someone—someone’s always going to be in the way.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think that someone is?”

Peter looked away, his expression suddenly guarded.

Johnny sighed and moved forward, stopping just in front of him. “Peter. Who do you think that someone is?”

No answer.

“Look at me and answer my question.”

Peter gazed up at him, an odd expression on his face. He looked like he was about to be sick, his eyes half-pleading.

“Who’s in the way, Pete?”

“Spider-Man,” he said, as if the word had been ripped out of him, as if his own tongue hated the very shape of it in his mouth.

Johnny let out a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh and knelt before him. “You’re an idiot, Peter Parker,” he said softly, allowing a fondness he usually kept at bay to creep into his voice. “In my world, in this, and probably in any other, the only one who’s ever stood in our way is you.”

Peter looked down at him. “I’ve already done everything I can, Johnny.”

“No, you haven’t.”

His brows snapped together. “What else is left?”

“How about telling him the truth?”

“I’ve never lied to him.”

“Haven’t you? What about Spider-Man?”

Peter yanked his hands away. “What _about_ Spider-Man?”

“What happened to him?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” he asked irritably.

“Pete. I know the secret, okay? I know who’s under the mask.”

“Congratulations?” he offered. He was trying to be sarcastic, though it somehow lacked his usual bite. He shrank back from Johnny. If he could phase right through the chair, he would have.

Johnny frowned. “Fine. If that’s how you want to play it. Just answer my questions and I’ll go away like you want me to.”

Peter didn’t look like he believed him but nodded reluctantly.

“What happened to Spider-Man, Peter?” he asked. “No more games.”

Peter’s eyes darted nervously around the room. “I don’t—I don’t know. So many people have asked—I don’t know.”

“Why did he quit?”

He shuddered, hand going to the back of his neck, flicking off some imaginary object. Johnny could see beads of sweat suddenly breaking out on his forehead. “I don’t know.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know!”

“When was the last time he was out?”

Peter shoved him aside, and Johnny was so unprepared for it, he landed right on his ass. Peter jumped to his feet and ran. Johnny hurried after him but realized that he had never intended to go very far.  Peter had just sprinted to the kitchen, only to start throwing up noisily in the sink.

“What’s wrong with you?” Johnny asked, baffled.

“I don’t know,” Peter repeated weakly, turning on the faucet, leaning limply over the counter. “I don’t know. Please. I don’t know.”  He was shaking, and Johnny finally realized what it was that Peter was feeling, the one emotion his entire body was broadcasting.

It was fear.

Peter Parker, _Spider-Man_ , a person who regularly defied death and gravity, was _afraid_.

Johnny reached for him.  His fingers had barely grazed Peter’s shoulder when he pulled violently away, rubbing his hands frantically down his arms.

“Everywhere,” he mumbled. “They’re everywhere.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny said, alarmed. “You’re okay. Peter, there’s nothing—”

Peter made a strange sound like a whimper, and Johnny felt a chill run down his spine. His eyes rolled back in his head, and Johnny rushed forward.

He barely made it in time to catch Peter’s suddenly unconscious form and Johnny grunted at the sudden weight in his arms.

_What the hell is going on?_

 

+

 

Spider-Man swung them through the same open window to his bedroom that Johnny had left through hours before. It seemed so long ago now. 

“Here you are,” Spider-Man said softly, setting him down. “Safe and sound.”

Johnny didn’t let go.

“Torch.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t, but let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Johnny nodded, reluctantly releasing him from his grasp.  “So tired,” he murmured as he slipped between the covers. “Want to sleep forever.”

Spider-Man’s hands stilled in the middle of tucking him in. “Things will be better in the morning Johnny.”

“Don’t know if that’s true.” He hesitated and patted the expanse of empty space on his king-sized bed. “Stay here? Just for a little bit?”

Spider-Man stood still for a moment before slowly laying down next to him atop the covers. “Go to sleep. There’s still some time before sunrise.”

“Not nearly enough,” Johnny murmured, moving closer. “Hey.”

“Hey, what?”

“Tell me what it’s like in your world.”

“It’s a whole different place. Where do you want me to begin?”

Johnny thought about it. There was so much he wanted to know. What was it like without the Fantastic Four? Was the world just fine without them? Was Johnny Storm?

“Does Peter still live in the Baxter Building?” he found himself asking instead, mind drawn to the memory of him, bruised and rumpled and exhausted as he stood in the light of his bedroom window. He had looked as striking as ever, in spite of everything. Handsome in his own way, a very particular way that seemed engineered to pierce right to the heart of any Johnny Storm.

“He doesn’t own it anymore,” Spider-Man said with a rueful chuckle. “Lost it just today.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s a long story. Don’t think Johnny will ever forgive him for that.”

Johnny frowned. “I would.”

“Maybe tell him that. Get him to cut the guy some slack.”

“If you think it’ll help,” Johnny said doubtfully. He rolled onto his side to face him. “I still don’t understand why he bought it in the first place.”

Spider-Man didn’t say anything for a while, his blank gaze fixed upon the ceiling. Johnny was starting to wonder if he’d fallen asleep when he spoke. “You know that Peter’s only got his aunt, right? For the longest time, it was just the two of them.”

Johnny nodded. He’d met May Parker once, a long time ago.

“But the Fantastic Four told him something. _Johnny_ told him something.”

“What was that?”

“They said that he was family. I don’t think Peter’s ever going to forget that.”

Johnny blinked at him. The wistful note in his voice, the deep affection, betrayed some sort of connection between him and Peter Parker and the Fantastic Four that Johnny couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Go to sleep, firefly. Tomorrow...Tomorrow may just be an even bigger day than today.”

It was funny, Johnny thought, closing his eyes. Earlier all he’d been able to think about was Spider-Man, but now that he was here, only inches away, Johnny’s head was filled with Peter. His heart clenched in his chest. In a better world, they would have a chance together, he told himself. A better world with a Johnny Storm who deserved it, who could make him happy, who would never burn him a hundred times, and then a hundred more. 

 

+

 

The Baxter Building had an abandoned air about it when Johnny returned. The TV in the living room was on, tuned to the news channel, but there was no one there. He was just about to turn away when what was on the screen caught his attention. It was the wreckage of Parker’s company, and on the site were the other three members of the Fantastic Four. He could see Ben helping to move debris, and off to one side were Reed and Sue talking to someone who looked like J. Jonah Jameson while a voice-over reporter recounted events as they knew.

Johnny left the living room and headed for the apartments. The Baxter Building was similar enough to the place he had grown up in that it was no problem navigating, and the DNA-encoded lock to Johnny Storm’s room opened at his touch.

An abrupt motion from the bed made him freeze, his eyes adjusting to the light spilling in from the hall and the windows. He stared in silence for a while. “Spidey. What are you doing?”

“Um. He fell asleep like this, I _swear_.”

Johnny walked in the rest of the way, a combination of amused, puzzled, and maybe more than a little jealous. Spider-Man was lying on his back, the other Johnny at his right, fast asleep on his side and snuggled in, one hand over the spider emblem on Peter’s chest. “Don’t you two look sweet?”

“Johnny—”

Johnny threw himself down on the empty space on Peter’s other side, ignoring the choking noise coming from inside Peter’s mask. “God, I’m _wiped_ . This day feels like it’s gone on _forever_.”

“How’d it go with the other me?”

Johnny had added the sight of Peter fainting dead away to the list of images he wanted to forget but couldn’t. Johnny had left him still passed out on his couch, a dead mass of dense muscle he had struggled to half-drag, half-carry. “Badly. I’ll tell you in the morning. What about _him_?”

He glanced down at the blond head on his chest. Johnny was murmuring in his sleep. “Not great. I haven’t been able to get what happened with Parker out of him, but I’m guessing it wasn’t good?”

“Peter dumped him,” Johnny informed him bluntly.

“Oh.” Silence, and then, “What a dick.”

He snorted. “Normally, I’d agree with you—”

_“Normally?”_

“—but something’s _really_ wrong here and I don’t think it’s his fault.”

“Yeah, I gathered as much.”

“What should we do?”

Spidey thought for a moment. “I suppose we’ll just have to fix things.”

“Oh, that’s simple then,” Johnny said, unable to stop himself from smiling. After having a Peter Parker faint dead away in his arms, it was reassuring to see one acting just how Johnny expected him to. Spider-Man always thought he could fix things, even things no one asked him to. “I’m guessing you have a plan?”

“I always have a plan, Matchstick,” he said, loftily.

“How many of them aren’t just some variation of punching things and standing in the explosion?”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Johnny laughed quietly. He rolled onto his side, facing Peter, and let his eyes drift slowly shut.

“Johnny?”

“Mm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Losing the Baxter Building. Fighting with you. Getting us sucked through the Darkforce Dimension and into a whole different universe. You know. The usual stuff.”

Johnny hadn’t forgotten the events of the previous day, they just felt so far removed from their present situation that they had ceased to matter. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “It was a nice statue.”

“You know, we’ve been so distracted by all the stuff happening here that I never asked how you feel about this. About seeing your family again—”

Johnny groped across the bed until his hand found Peter’s mouth and covered it, silencing him. “You said you can read the room, Spidey. And the room is _tired_.”

Peter’s hand wrapped around his wrist, warm and strong, and Johnny felt a sudden electric thrill, his eyes flying wide open as he found himself holding his breath. Peter pulled Johnny’s hand away from his face but didn’t release it. Instead, he pressed his thumb against Johnny’s pulse, his gloved fingers sliding down the back of Johnny’s wrist—an oddly intimate gesture.

For a moment, Johnny felt drunk on courage. One second more and Johnny could rip his mask off. One second and he could drag him into a kiss. One second—

Peter let him go. Maybe he _did_ know how to read a room after all.

“Go to sleep, Johnny.”

Johnny blinked at him in the darkness. “Do you really want to know how I feel?”

Peter turned his head in his direction, the only movement that wouldn’t disturb the sleeping Human Torch, and gave a small nod.

“This Fantastic Four...I admit when we first got here, it was like being slapped in the face. But while they may look just like ours, they’re not _them_ . I _know_ that. _They’re_ not my family. My family came here with me.”

Johnny heard the sharp intake of breath from beneath the mask, but Peter didn’t say anything in response and Johnny eventually rolled over onto his other side. He closed his eyes again, feeling Peter at his back, the strength and the heat of him, and soon tumbled headlong into sleep.

 

+

 

Johnny woke up to a world that had Spider-Man again.  It was the wrong Spider-Man. It wasn’t _their_ Spider-Man. The news channels made a point of saying that but it didn’t seem to matter.  The people were out on the streets in droves, wearing costumes and peddling bootleg merchandise, and Jonah was on every station fuming uselessly and — weirdly enough — seeming to enjoy his own rage.

“Can’t believe New York elected him here, too,” Spider-Man muttered from where he lay sprawled across the foot of his bed. He’d just swung in with the sun, and his body was even hotter than usual. They had woken up with him gone, and Johnny had seen the look of panic on Torch’s face at the realization.  But then they both remembered that he was _Spider-Man_.  Patrolling the streets — even someone _else’s_ streets — was an unbreakable habit.

“There are _so_ many of them outside,” Torch said from where he stood by the window, peering at the streets below. There was a helicopter out there streaming live footage to the morning news, showing that the streets surrounding the Baxter Building were indeed carpeted by a sea of bodies clad in red and blue. “ _Why_ are they outside?”

“Reed made the mistake of saying you two are staying here on air,” Johnny explained.  “They interviewed him last night. They played the clip while you were in the shower.”

“You _definitely_ don’t have as many fans back home,” Torch told Spider-Man, who was lounging with an air of insufferable smugness. “I _refuse_ to believe you have as many fans.”

“Three different people gave me a box of donuts while I was outside. Cry more, Storm.”

“You didn’t bring a single one back! Did you eat _all_ of them?”

“Spider-metabolism.”

“You _need_ to stop making spider-shit up.”

Johnny lay back against the pillows and listened to them bicker. Instead of being annoying, it was almost music to his ears. He’d missed it, and Torch looked like he was having fun, even though he was at that moment waving his arms around and stamping his foot.  Johnny smiled, dug his toes under Spider-Man’s calf, and idly changed the channel again.

The mood in the room dropped so abruptly, Johnny instantly regretted it. The current channel was still discussing the events of the previous night, but this time they were focused on another person that had been there: Peter Parker.

He was shoving his way through a small cluster of reporters waiting outside a hospital in footage taken just a half hour earlier—Harry’s hospital, the anchor revealed. He looked tired and pale, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever. His voice telling the reporters rushing him to get out of his way sounded rough and gravelly.  Everything about him screamed a deep weariness, wrenching at Johnny’s heart. He looked as terrible as Johnny felt.

The TV screen suddenly turned black, making him jump. Torch lowered his arm and dropped the remote control back on the bed.

“What did you do that for?” Spider-Man asked.

“Can’t stand his stupid face. And we need to talk to the others, anyway.”

Johnny eyed the remote. “You go on ahead...You guys explain last night to them without me.”

“No. You need to hear some things, too. You can stare at Parker’s mug some other time. Maybe even in person, if things work out.”

“That’s not— I wasn’t—”

“Uh-huh,” Torch said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Webhead. Get off your ass.”

“I’ve been _off my ass_ for an hour,” Spider-Man complained, but he followed Torch out of the room, anyway.

Johnny hauled himself out of bed, each step requiring the utmost effort, and made his way to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and inspected his reflection. He looked awful, his eyes bloodshot and his hair hanging limply in his face. He pushed his fingers into it, mussing it just a little bit. There was nothing he could do about his dull skin or puffy eyes so he gave up and left for the common living area.

Sue, Reed, and Ben were already there, all three of them sitting around the living room, not looking very pleased as they stared at Spider-Man and the Human Torch.

“What’s going on?” Johnny asked warily from the doorway.

Sue turned at the sound of his voice, her mouth opening to speak. But then she actually got a good look at him and stopped short. “We were asking them why they left the scene so abruptly last night,” Sue answered slowly after a moment’s thought. “There was still a lot of work to be done and Jonah showed up with a lot of questions.”

“They...They were keeping me company,” Johnny said, a half-truth. Spider-Man had been there for him. He wasn’t sure where Torch had been, but he had his suspicions.

“You weren’t with Peter?” Sue asked, puzzled.

“I was...and then I wasn’t.”

“Thanks for clearin’ that up,” said Ben sarcastically.

His sister was much sharper. She always was. Her gaze took him in from head to toe and back up. “Did something happen, Johnny? Besides the...incident. Between the two of you?”

Johnny didn’t want them to find out this way. Johnny didn’t want them to find out, period. Poor stupid Johnny Storm. Can’t hold on to a relationship to save his life. Can’t even keep a guy who claimed to love him so much.

“...just a misunderstanding,” Spider-Man was saying, snapping Johnny out of his spiral. “Parker’s obviously not in his right mind at the moment, so it’s probably best to give him some space, anyway.”

Johnny stared at him stupidly. What?

Sue looked at him expectantly. “Is that true? Did you and Peter have a fight because he was upset and snapped at you?”

“I—” It was pointless to lie. They were going to find out eventually. Spider-Man sounded far too optimistic but he was wrong. Johnny took a deep breath. “I messed up and he said we should stop—stop pretending that our relationship was—was—”

“I’m gonna punch that punk into next week,” Ben rumbled.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Johnny said quickly, noting the stony expressions on his team’s faces. “It was mine, okay? I fucked up. Big time.”

Sue didn’t say anything for a moment. “What the hell happened?”

Johnny looked down and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Johnny.”

“Please, Sue. Everyone. Just leave it alone. Let’s get to the point, right? Obviously you have things you want to say to us.”

Ben let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “We wanted to ask you what you know about the explosion, or get Parker to talk to us about it, but I guess that ain’t happening.”

“No...I’m sorry. Whatever happened last night...Well, I don’t know if it has to be our business, anyway.”

Sue raised an eyebrow at that, but Johnny pretended not to see.

“Jameson also wants the two of you out as soon as possible,” Reed told Spider-Man and the Human Torch apologetically.  Johnny took the opportunity and went to stand unobtrusively by the window and look down at the people milling in the streets.  “I’ve been working on a way to get you two home, anyway. He’d just rather it was sooner than later, before things get even more out of hand.”

“Then we have to get your Spider-Man back sooner, too,” Torch replied.

 _Can’t do that if he’s dead,_ Johnny thought, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the windowpane. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Oh, I can keep them,” Torch said darkly. “You mentioned something about a list yesterday, Reed?”

“A list of leads, yes,” Reed said, handing over his tablet. “It’s mostly sightings up until a few days after his last confirmed appearance, along with some persons of interest.”

“Parker’s on this,” Spider-Man said after a glance. “Did none of you ever think to talk to him?”

Johnny remembered seeing Peter’s name near the top of Reed’s list the day before, but he’d dismissed it. Of course he would have showed up on it, being known as _the_ Spider-Man photographer. Johnny himself had made the connection without the help of any algorithm.

Ben looked at the webhead thoughtfully. “Reporters hounded Parker for ages and he insisted he knew nothing about what happened. If he did, don’t you think he would have at least told Johnny _something_?”

“Did you ever ask him?” Torch frowned. “Like straight up just asked.”

Johnny shrugged one shoulder. “A few times.”

“And?”

“And he said he doesn’t know anything. I never really tried to push him because it seemed to upset him.” He stared out the window. “I know how _that_ feels.”

Torch opened his mouth, then closed it again, biting his lip.

“Spit it out, Junior,” Ben told him.

“Well. To say talking about Spider-Man upsets him is an understatement,” he said slowly. “I found that out last night.”

Johnny stood up straight. “You spoke to him?”

“After you left. And I’ve been thinking about it...He was acting really strangely.”

“His building just collapsed,” Sue said. “And he and Johnny broke up. Maybe that’s all it was.”

Torch shook his head. “I know Parker, okay? And sure, this is a different universe and all, but even taking that into account, he shouldn’t have been so terrified by the mere mention of Spider-Man. It makes absolutely no sense.”

“Terrified?” Johnny echoed. “Are you sure?”

“He threw up and started acting like there were... _things_ in the room that I couldn’t see.  That was _before_ he passed out. And he’s generally pretty weird but not like _that_.”

Johnny thought back to all the times Peter had abruptly changed the topic when Spider-Man had been mentioned, the way he had always seemed to tense. Johnny had just assumed that they felt similarly.  That Peter missed his friend but always just held it in. But thinking about it now—the clenched fists, the nervous eyes, the way he’d touched his own book their second night together, as if it burned—all of it _could_ have been fear.

“It happened when you brought up Spider-Man?” Reed asked.

“Yeah. I was pressing him pretty hard,” Torch admitted regretfully.  “I didn’t know that was how he would react. At first he just seemed tense and I figured it was because he was hiding something.  But the more specific my questions were, the worse he got. It was like…It was like there was some kind of trigger in his mind and my questions made it go off.”

Sue leaned forward. “Are you suggesting that he _does_ know something of what happened to Spider-Man, he just can’t talk about it?”

“It’s not just about _talking_ about him, I think. It might not even be about seeing him, otherwise he would have had a complete meltdown when Spider-Man showed up to save Harry last night. But it was like the more specific my questions got, the more they went in a certain direction, the more upset he became until he just—” He stopped, miming an explosion.

“A mental block,” Reed said, abruptly taking his tablet back and starting to furiously tap into it. “Some form of hypnosis or brain programming that triggers fear or revulsion to keep him from even _thinking_ about something. Very _clever_.”

Ben raised his eyebrows.

“And wrong,” Reed said quickly. “Of course. But it _is_ clever. Done properly, he wouldn’t even be aware of it. Whole chunks of memory right there in his head and his brain would go out of its way not to remember them or even acknowledge their existence in order to avoid some associated trauma.”

“But...But why?”

“ _If_ he knows something, it must be pretty big.” Reed looked over at Spider-Man. “Can you think of any of Spider-Man’s enemies who can do such a thing?”

“A lot, actually,” Spider-Man said slowly.

“Why even bother with that?” Ben asked. “Why not just—you know—” He drew a line across his throat.

“Ben!” Sue admonished, glancing in Johnny’s direction.

“It’s a fair question,” Reed argued.

“He’s still useful alive,” Spider-Man said. “For some reason or another.”

“Can we remove it?” Johnny asked, pushing away from the window.

“We’re only speculating right now, Johnny. We could all be mistaking a perfectly normal grief response with something more sinister because of who we are.”

“Yes, but if we were right...Could we remove it?”

Reed rubbed his index finger against the bridge of his nose.  “It would be really dangerous,” he said reluctantly. “He’d have to want it gone. But that would necessitate telling him about it which could set off another trigger and who knows what would happen then?”

Johnny closed his eyes.

“I know how much you want to find Spider-Man, Johnny. But—”

“It wouldn’t be worth it if Peter lost his mind in the process,” Johnny finished flatly. “I know. I get it. Excuse me. I have to—I need—I’m just gonna go.”

No one stopped him from leaving, and Johnny avoided meeting their eyes. He went to his room, shut the door, and stood still for a time. The universe must really hate him, Johnny thought, to dangle every answer he ever wanted right in front of his face, only to ask a price that was far too high.

“Johnny.”

He turned around, not even surprised to find Spider-Man crouched on a windowsill.

“You okay?” he asked, leaping lightly to the floor.

Johnny huffed, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed. “I’m fine. I mean, I thought Spider-Man disappearing fucked _me_ up, but I’m not the one with a potentially booby-trapped brain.”

Spider-Man hesitated before sitting down next to him. Johnny could see his own reflection in his lenses. “I know Reed said it’s dangerous, but come on. It’s Reed. He’ll figure out a way that isn’t.”

“I hope so. Because the last thing I want is for Peter to get hurt over this. Again. I just—I just wish we could do something in the meantime.”

“I could find it in me to punch someone,” Spider-Man agreed.

“I could probably set their hair on fire without feeling much guilt,” he said with a half-smile. He let out a long, slow sigh. “Well, there _are_ other names on that list. Other places and leads we can check out.”

Spider-Man looked away. “Speaking of which, can you help me with that?”

Johnny blinked at the abrupt shift. “Of course. What do you want me to do?”

“Can I borrow your phone?  Or just something with a map.”

“Yeah...Yeah,” Johnny said. He grabbed the remote control he’d dropped earlier and started pressing buttons.  “Reed’s got all our screens wired into the main computer and—here you go.”

“Touch screen?”

Johnny nodded. “Motion sensor, too, but it probably wouldn’t recognize you.  That function’s locked to our thermal signatures.” 

“That’s fine,” he said, and crossed over to the TV that was now basically a computer monitor displaying a map of New York, and started swiping around until he found the Baxter Building.

“That list Reed gave us. There’s a bunch of accounts of Spider-Man sightings in it, right?”

Johnny nodded.  “The search algorithm sorted out the ones that are most likely to be hoaxes or mistakes, but there may still be a few left.”

“Not...a problem,” he said, tapping around on the screen.  The main interface for their computer system turned up, followed by a login screen that Spider-Man breezed past, followed by a list of files, and then finally a window of the list Reed had given, all so fast that Johnny’s head spun.

“How...How are you doing all that?” he couldn’t help asking in surprise.

“Hacked in last night and set up a login,” Spider-Man said absently, tapping a few more on-screen buttons. 

“ _Hacked?_ You just _hacked_ a system developed by _Reed Richards?_  Do you know how many people have tried?”

“It wasn’t that hard since I didn’t have to do it remotely. Would have been another story if Reed hadn’t given me access to his lab yesterday.”

Johnny shook his head. “Okay. Setting aside how you claim to have just casually ‘hacked in,’ how are you getting around so easily? How do you know the file systems?”

“In my world, I was part of the FF for a while. I...learned a few things about the way Reed Richards’ mind works.”

Johnny found himself hot with envy. “We...We were on the same team?”

Spider-Man glanced back at him. “No. Not exactly.”

“But—You were in the FF?”

“I was only in it because Johnny made me take his place.”

“Why? Where did I go? I mean, the other Torch? Why did he leave the team?”

Spider-Man’s fingers stilled. “It’s a long story and he hasn’t really told me all of it.” He stabbed the screen one more time, perhaps a bit more viciously than was necessary, and the screen was immediately filled with a bunch of red dots.

Johnny barely noticed it, his eyes still fixed on Spider-Man’s rigid spine. Try as he might, he could think of no good reason for ever leaving his team.

Spider-Man’s deep sigh cut through his thoughts. “Some days I wonder if maybe I just do too much and I should just stay inside and watch TV instead.”

Johnny shook himself. “What?”

He turned to face Johnny, waving impatiently at the screen. “I really thought there’d be some kind of pattern, but it’s just...all over the place.”

Johnny went over and tugged him aside. “Let me see.”

The screen was filled with red dots scattered all over New York City. Johnny narrowed his eyes.

“Any bright ideas, flamebrain?”

“Yeah...The sightings have timestamps, don’t they?”

Spider-Man stared at him.

“What?”

“It’s so _obvious_ ,” he groaned, turning back to the monitor to tap and swipe away.

In a few seconds, the display had changed. Instead of isolated points on a map, the dots were now waypoints, labeled with their timestamps and joined together by dotted lines.

“Let’s get rid of the points that are _way_ off,” Spider-Man said, tapping several stray dots in the periphery of the main cluster. “And exercise our own judgement for conflicting points...and...here we are.”

They stood back, taking it all in. Johnny’s eyes drifted from point to point, taking in the names of the places, picturing them in his mind. It was easy to imagine Spider-Man swinging through those streets, the Baxter Building as his starting point. Always on the move, pausing only for a few minutes to prevent mugging or save a pedestrian or pick up an old lady’s laundry that had been blown into her neighbor’s balcony. He stopped to fight a villain (Kangaroo) in a parking lot, and then again to save a jewelry store from a robbery, but the longest time he spent in a single place seemed to have been at a small apartment complex, helping to track down a lost pet gerbil in the courtyard.

Johnny traced the path until it came to an abrupt end at about half-past nine in the evening, a report of him recovering a man’s wallet from a pickpocket apparently the last time anyone ever saw him. 

Johnny stared at the empty map around it.

Spider-Man drew a lazy circle in the air in front of the screen, around where the trail suddenly cut off. “What’s over here?”

Johnny blinked. “Buildings.”

“Yeah, but...what buildings?”

Johnny shrugged. “I don’t know...banks. A couple of restaurants, two office buildings, Oscorp—”

“Oscorp?” Spider-Man interrupted, voice suddenly sharp.

Johnny nodded. “Norman Osborn’s company. Do you know him in your world?”

“Unfortunately,” Spider-Man said absently, zooming in until the individual building names appeared on the map and OSCORP filled the screen.

“Peter’s best pals with Norman’s kid,” Johnny murmured, remembering. “Do you think Spider-Man knew him, too?”

“Johnny, I need to know,” Spider-Man said urgently, ignoring his question. “In this world, does the Green Goblin exist?”

Johnny furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”

A pause. “Nothing. No one. Just…” He stepped back. “I need an actual computer.”

“Reed would let you use any of ours. Ask permission this time!”

Spider-Man was already at the door before Johnny could even finish speaking. He paused, halfway out, and turned. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, firefly,” he said, and disappeared.

Johnny stood rooted to the spot as the door clicked shut.

_Firefly._

The nickname felt like a puff of air on the back of his neck, sending a not unpleasant shiver down his spine. Unbidden, memories of Peter whispering the same word in his ear floated to the surface of his recollection.  The way he’d say it, with a hint of wonder and reverence, breathing it into the darkness every time they were together in bed, filled Johnny with a pleasant warmth. He was used to everyone from his family to random strangers calling him by every fire-related nickname imaginable, but Peter saying it had always felt different.

Johnny stumbled back to his bed and sat down heavily on the edge. Why was this happening? Why was his mind like this? Why hadn’t he had _these_ thoughts while he was with Peter? Why had he kept thinking about Spider-Man? And now, with the other right in front of him and Peter lost, why were his thoughts circling back?

And if they found Spider-Man—if they got him back—what would he do, he wondered. Who would he think about then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I’d list all references at the end of the work but that was when I thought this work was only going to be 6 chapters long. Ha. Ha. Ha. Anyway, this chapter makes reference to events that happen in The Amazing Spider-Man #790, after Parker Industries tanks and Peter has to sell the Baxter Building again. Johnny comes over for a fight with him, ruining the marble sculpture of the FF in the lobby by blasting his own figure’s head off. This prompts Peter to make a reference to Johnny losing his head, but claims he won’t make the joke because “he can read the room.” This fic takes the 616 characters and diverges from canon at some point after villains attack in the same location.
> 
> Anyway, I’m really sorry about the month-long gaps, but maybe we’ll be done by December? /sweat emoji. Also I’ve read all the comments even if I haven’t been able to respond to all of them and I wanted to say thank you. They really keep me going! 
> 
> If you want “live updates” and snippets as well as the occasional peek into other WIPs (although more frequently I just yell about comics) you can follow me on Twitter (@oneshinyapple)


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